


Never

by Saasan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Champion Shiro (Voltron), Eventual Smut, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gladiators, Hurt/Comfort, I wouldn't read this based off my own tags lmao, M/M, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, but set in the canon universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saasan/pseuds/Saasan
Summary: Keith is in a hellavu tight spot thanks to his own impulsive behavior.  He'll be dying in the arena any day now, no doubt, and until then he's better off keeping his head down and his eyes averted.  But, when the dangers outside the ring are worse than any opponent he meets in the arena, Keith learns a painful truth:Some tragedies are impossible to look away from.





	1. The Arena

**Author's Note:**

> I'll include warnings per chapter in this fic. Any spoilerish warnings will be in the end notes, but I'll give a heads up on those chapters to check for warnings. Always feel free to tell me if I need to tag something or tag it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My rape warnings for this fic: there will be flashbacks to moments and there will be the scenes directly prior to rape, but there will be no scenes explicitly showing/describing rape.

The room simmered with nervous energy.  Keith flicked his ear in annoyance.  What difference did it make which arena they fought in?  The other prisoners were kidding themselves if they thought being in the ring with the rumored Champion had any impact on their fate.  All of them were going to die on blood-choked sand: some were just going to die sooner than others.  Still, changing arenas did bring new challenges.  Would the ring be the same size?  Same shape?  Were there any new rules to learn?  There was also the matter of the cells--depending on how quickly this arena went through prison fodder, they might be using a large, joint cell instead of the smaller ones Keith was used to.  More bodies meant more enemies.  He would be on full alert for the foreseeable future. 

 

“They say the Champion is a barbarian from the outer reaches,” a fruvian whispered loudly to its neighbor.  It was fishing for more information, hoping someone would jump in on the conversation.  “They say he’s so bloodthirsty, he attacked his own companions for a chance to fight first.”

 

A jostry snorted, unimpressed.  “All the champions are bloodthirsty.  There’s nothing special about that.”

 

The fruvian wrung it’s four hands.  “Yes, but this one is undefeated,” it pressed.

 

“Everyone who wins their first fight could be called ‘undefeated’--until their second.  Everyone loses eventually,” the jostry shrugged.  “This isn’t the first champion and it won’t be the last.”  It eyed the fruvian over before smiling unkindly.  “Don’t worry, little one.  Champions only fight the strongest contestants.  I’m sure you’ll die long before you need to face him.”

 

The fruvian squeaked and ducked away.  Keith wasn't fooled by the display of meekness.  He’d been on the same ship with the fruvian for several movements and had seen it slit more than its share of throats.  Larger, confident creatures like the jostry were its favored target and between the two aliens, Keith knew which one was more likely to survive the night.  

 

Keith suppressed a sigh and balanced on the balls of his feet.  He hated waiting.  They’d been docked for at least a varga now and still no sign of when they’d be moved.  It wasn't that he was eager to leave the shuttle or to meet a new round of fellow prisoners, but _waiting_ was boring.  Keith liked action.  Of course, a lack of patience was what had gotten him into this mess.  He’d been on a mission and instructed to wait for a signal before sneaking into a Galra base to sabotage it and, if there was time, steal several codes.  Instead, Keith had seen an early opportunity and taken it.  He’d been caught almost immediately.  It was just one more layer of proof that Kolivan had been right about him: he was still a kit with too much to learn and not enough experience to see him through tight spots.  

 

This was a hell of a tight spot.

 

Keith’s only bit of luck was that the Galra guards who captured him had thought he was a regular thief, not a member of a secret rebellion, and instead of torture and interrogation Keith’s fate was to fight and eventually die in the arena.  He didn’t mind it much these days.  Once he’d proven himself a worthwhile fighter, he’d moved up the ranks from cheap entertainment of the mass slayings of unskilled prisoners and now faced only battle-hardened warriors.  It still turned his stomach to think of his first fights--civilians, mostly children and women, who had stolen out of poverty-driven desperation.  They had died while crying for mercy, and the only thing Keith could offer them was a quick death.  Keith had no taste for violence or killing, but he did what he needed to in order to complete his missions and he didn’t feel guilty about it.  He would survive as long as he could and when he died, it would be with his honor intact.

 

The door whirred open.  “Get up, maggots,” a guard said roughly, a hint of a sneer on his face.  “You lucky lot are heading to cell block 19-329.” 

 

Keith suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  As if anyone on the shuttle had a fucking clue what that was supposed to mean.  Likely, the guard was trying intimidate the prisoners.  Idiotic.  Half the prisoners could kill him before he hit the floor if they so chose, not that anyone here was stupid enough to try it.  But still.  Posturing?  Ridiculous. 

 

The guard marched them down hallways and several elevators.  Keith counted the turns and floors they passed.  He didn’t harbor any hopes of escape, but old habits are hard to break.  Ten left turns, six right, twenty-one block length hallways, and thirteen floors in total.  Slightly interesting information: ultimately useless.

 

They entered the room that was, presumably, cell block 19-329.  Keith scanned the room to assess the area and find the highest threats.  As he’d feared, it was a mass cell.  There were folding bunks in alcoves and an area with bolted tables, no doubt meant for meals.  The meal area was disgustingly close to the holes meant for urine, feces, and whatever other forms of excrement the prisoners might exude.  No privacy whatsoever, but also no furniture that could be used as weapons.  In some ways, it was safer than the last group of cells he’d been in.  There was more room to move, for example.  More fellow prisoners, though.  That probably meant gangs or at least alliances.  He’d need to be mindful of how he addressed everyone and mindful of small weapons that could be hidden in the bunks.  

 

Evaluation of the room complete, Keith turned his focus to the room’s occupants.  The usual species, the usual glares.  But wait--there, in the far corner--was that...a human?  Keith had never seen one in person, but he had memorized the picture of his father that his mother had brought back with her from Earth--her only souvenir aside from the kit growing in her belly.  Yes, this man possessed the same features, the same tone of skin.  He was the correct size and proportions.  His hair was quite a bit longer than Keith’s fathers, but people could have different hair lengths, presumably.  Yes--this was almost definitely a human.

 

And, in a moment of idiocy, Keith approached him, a single question on his mind.

 

~*~*~

 

Shiro blinked and let his eyes slowly refocus.  He was zoning out a lot more recently.  Not that there was anything to look at--the terrifying newness of each alien species he encountered had long since faded away.  Still, he paid attention whenever a new group of prisoners shuffled in.  Might as well have an idea about who he was going to be living with.  How long had it been since the last delivery of fresh bodies?  Maybe two weeks.  He’d stopped counting days ages ago.  Days had stopped mattering ages ago. 

 

A glance at the group revealed nothing out of the ordinary.  The usual species, the usual pre-emptive posturing.  Except--a slender alien with Galra ears, lavender skin, a long braid, and a serious expression was making his way directly toward him.  Shiro changed his stance slightly.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to make an example the minute the cell doors closed. 

 

The alien walked up to him, stopped at a safe difference, and looked him dead in the eyes.

 

“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you,” the serious alien said.  “What’s the rest?”

 

Shiro’s jaw dropped.  Had he...had he just been... _rickrolled_?!

 

The alien waited expectantly for a moment before his ears sagged.  “You don’t know the song?” he said, disappointed.  “Are you not human?”

 

Shiro’s eye twitched.  “I’m human,” he said.  It was the first time someone had known his species.  It was also the first time he’d been fucking rickrolled.  What the hell was going on?

 

The alien squared up its shoulders and tried again.  “The song.  Do you know it?”

 

Shiro nodded dumbly.  

 

The ears perked up again.

 

“Then do you know the rest of the lyrics?”

 

“Uh, not all of them,” Shiro said, baffled, “but the rest of the chorus is ‘Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you’.”

 

The alien mouthed the words, obviously memorizing them, before nodding.  “Thank you,” it said simply, and walked away.

 

Shocked into action, Shiro grabbed the alien’s arm.  It whirled around with a hiss, claws raised and fangs bared.  Shiro immediately dropped his hands in apologetic surrender and backed a step away.

 

“Sorry,” he said, “but what was that about?”

 

The alien searched his face suspiciously for a moment before relaxing and dropping its arms again.  “My mother went to Earth once.  She liked that song but could never remember it.”  It shrugged.  “Thanks,” it repeated, and once again walked away.

 

What the hell.  What the actual fucking hell just happened?!

 

~*~*~

 

Keith hummed quietly as he settled himself against a table and waited.  He needed to determine which bunks were free and see what he could learn about his new cellmates.  In the meantime, he was immensely satisfied with the acquisition of the song lyrics.  The odds of him ever seeing his mother to relay the lyrics were slim to none (and perhaps were so low they dipped into the negative percentages), but he could hardly pass up the opportunity once he saw it.  

 

“That may have been the first time I’ve seen you start a conversation,” the fruvian said, popping up at Keith’s elbow.  

 

Keith shrugged.  There wasn't usually anything worth saying.

 

“So what did you learn about him?” the small alien persisted.

 

Keith frowned.  “ _About_ him?  Nothing.”

 

“But you talked to the _Champion_ ,” the alien stressed.  “Why did you talk to him?  Were you trying to make friends?”

 

No.  No way.  There was no fucking way Keith had just barged up to the fucking Champion and asked him _for goddamn song lyrics_.

 

Keith turned slowly, eyes wide, to stare at the far alcove.  The human was staring back.  Oh shit.   The man was alone in the corner--the one furthest from the door and furthest from the stench of the excrement pits--and none of the cell’s inhabitants came anywhere near him.  A cold sweat enveloped Keith’s body. 

 

He had fucked up.  

 

~*~*~

 

The slender alien with the Galra ears was calm and collected, observing the room with a critical eye.  It was intelligent, a survivor.  It also knew Rick Astley.  It was easily the most shocking thing that had happened to Shiro in space to date, and space had not been short on shocking things.  

 

A frulian (or fruitvian?  Shiro was not good at remembering species’ names) scurried over and talked to the slender alien.  A few exchanges later and the alien turned to stare back at him.  Well.  Someone just learned he was the Champion.  

 

The slender alien flattened its ears and ducked its head, looking away.  Shiro considered telling it not to worry--he didn’t attack anyone in the cells that didn’t come at him first--but then decided it wasn't worth the bother.  He wasn't planning on sparking up a friendship.  It was better to let the faces go unmemorized.  They would be replaced soon enough anyway.

 

~*~*~

 

The jostry died in the night.  Keith was not surprised.  The fruvian was smart to do it the first quintant--less chance of it being blamed on a fellow newbie.  When the guards came by with breakfast they grumbled at the mess and demanded to know who was responsible.  Keith happened to catch the fruvian’s eye and gave it the tiniest shrug.  The little creature blinked twice at him and nodded slightly.  It was nearest thing he’d had to a friendly interaction in a long time. 

 

After that the fruvian took to hanging around him.  It was annoying, but having someone else to watch his back was not a bad thing and for all its prattling the creature was fairly clever.  Keith learned (without asking) that its name was Frell, that it had been caught selling contraband material, and that it had smuggled in no less than seven knives.  Well, more accurately it had seven bone-like structures that it could remove from its body and use to puncture things.  When it offered one to him, Keith wasn't sure if he should refuse.  Was it not important to the creature’s overall physiology?  And wasn't holding onto its bone kind of disgusting?  Still, a weapon was a weapon, and in the end Keith did sleep better having it hidden up his sleeve.  

 

Several quintants passed and the Champion made no move to talk to him, for which Keith was immensely grateful.  The less attention he attracted, the better.  He could tell Frell was disappointed, though.  The creature had no doubt been hoping to form an alliance of some kind, but it looked like the Champion had no companions whatsoever.  He was vacant, most of the time, and when he did interact with anyone it was almost polite.  How had he gained his reputation as a bloodthirsty, ruthless killer?  Keith wondered when he would be able to see him fight, and his question was answered almost immediately.

 

The door to the cell opened and everyone looked up.

 

“On your feet, shit stains,” a guard announced.  “Today is a fighting day.”

 

~*~*~

 

“Do we get to use any weapons?” Frell asked the guard as the elevator rose slowly.

 

( _Eight floors_ , Keith counted.)

 

“There’s a room with stuff,” the guard said.  “You can pick a few things.”

 

Frell nodded happily.  He hopped from foot to foot, brimming with energy.  Keith had gathered that Frell enjoyed the arena. 

 

 _“I’m not caged up when I’m there,”_ he had explained once, and Keith echoed the feeling.  There was a brief freedom in the fight.  All that mattered was you and your opponent--nothing else.

 

“We’re lucky the Champion’s in our group,” Frell said, interrupting Keith’s thoughts.  

 

Keith nodded but frowned.  Apparently, the Galra had learned that they lost fewer prisoners to in-fighting if the prisoners never had to worry about facing each other in the ring, so cellmates only fought fought prisoners from different blocks.  It meant they’d never face the Champion in the arena, but it seemed unwise to mention this when the person in question was mere feet away, riding the same elevator.  But, if the Champion heard, he gave no notice of it and Frell prattled blissfully on.

 

“Ooo!  What a trove!”  Frelled cried the moment the elevator door opened to reveal a room filled with weapons.  He darted forward but was shoved aside by larger prisoners. They took their time with their selections before stepping back and letting the newer or smaller prisoners take what was left.  

 

Keith approached the selection of swords with a grimace.  Most were not the right weight for someone of his size, and he tried swinging and thrusting with all of them before settling on something passable.  Shields were the only armor offered and, unfortunately, they had all been claimed.  He’d just have to be extra careful.

 

“No shield for you?” Frell noted, twirling a knife.  “Pity.  I saw one of your fights on our old ship, you know.  Good work.”

 

Keith winced at the compliment.  He knew exactly which fight Frell was referring to.  He’d been disarmed midfight and ended up decapitating his foe with the edge of his severed shield.  It had taken multiple blows to fully cut his way through and end the other creature’s misery, and he’d lost more than a few nights’ sleep over the images.

 

“Bloody work,” Keith mumbled.  

 

Frell nodded.  “They like that, you know.  Bigger places like this, they want a show.  If you get them rooting for you--get guards betting on you--you last longer.”

 

“Or betting against you,” Keith frowned.  Success had its own price. 

 

“Very true,” Frell nodded.  

 

A nearby prisoner chuckled and eyed Keith over slowly.  “Don’t worry.  Pretty little thing like you?  You’ll have a lot of... _fans_.”

 

Keith’s skin crawled.  Maybe he didn’t want to win, not at this arena.  

 

The prisoner gave him a mock salute and, apparently first up, walked to the arena entrance and was let out into the ring.  

 

Keith didn’t know whether or not he was happy that the prisoner didn’t make it back in.  

 

~*~*~

 

As a general rule, Shiro didn’t pay much attention to fights he wasn't in, other than watching one or two directly prior to his own as a way to feel out the crowd.  It was for that reason he knew the little fruitmain creature had won its match.  It had started poorly with the small creature only barely dodging each blow.  However, as the fight wore on, Shiro realized that the fruitmain was still dodging by the exact same margain: it was wearing out its opponent on purpose, goading it on to exert itself to the point of exhaustion while always staying just that tiny bit out of range.  Clever creature. 

 

Suddenly, the fruitmain leapt up its foe’s arm to sink its dagger deep behind an eye before flitting away.  From there the end was swift--several more pointed blows and the fight was over. 

 

The audience was undecided.  Most had been cheering for the fruitmain’s death and were frustrated to have missed their kill, but many liked a good turnaround.  If the little alien wanted to win the audience as well as the fight, he would need to be more obvious about his ploy in the future.  Still, it was not a bad first win.  Shiro would probably see the odd creature for several more weeks at least.

 

With the fruitmain’s fight completed, the rickroller now waited at the door to be released.  Shiro watched the slender alien relax its shoulders and shake out its arms.  It was a practiced fighter and, if Shiro had to guess, had been trained at some point.  It was also rather young, so far as Shiro could tell.  How had it ended up here? 

 

The door opened and the young fighter walked--no, strode--out into the ring.  It was poised, focused, and let its opponent make the first move.  Smart.  It was feeling out any weaknesses.  

 

 _Left leg_ , Shiro thought to himself, _especially the knee_.  

 

The young fighter had noticed, too, judging by the way it kept attacking from the right, forcing the other alien to keep its weight on its bad leg.  It was a good strategy, but the rickroller could stand to learn from its friend.  Stay out of range; make them come to you.  The young alien might be strong and it might be fast, but there was no way it had the stamina of its larger opponent, and if it was hoping to wear it out until the weak leg failed, the rickroller needed to--

 

The crowd roared approval when the larger alien landed a heavy blow, knocking the rickroller off its feet.  Luckily, the slender alien had been knocked far enough away to have time to scramble up before the next blow could be delivered.  

 

Shiro winced in sympathy as he watched the young alien clutch its side.  He’d thought he’d heard ribs crack when the weapon connected and it looked like he was right.  The crowd cheered again as a second hit caught the young alien, this time on its hip.  That was that.  The poor thing had depended mainly on speed and with an injured hip, the fight was all but over.

 

Shiro shook his head and turned away.  It was just as well he’d never spoken to the rickroller again.  Making friends got you nowhere in this world.

 

The crowd burst into wild applause and Shiro squared up and headed to the door.  It was time for his fight.  Only… was that the young alien walking to the recovery room?  Huh.  It had won.  Shiro regretted not having seen the last of fight.  Perhaps the injuries had been intended to lure the larger alien closer or had enticed it into over-extending its reach…?  It’s what Shiro would have done. 

 

Shiro pushed away his wonderings and cleared his mind of thoughts.  It was his fight now.  It was time to survive.

 

~*~*~

 

Keith groaned as he tried to shimmy out of his torn prison garb.  He and the other winners from cell block 19-329 were in a recovery room attached to the arena, receiving minimal amounts of first aid.  An attendant examined his rapidly bruising ribs and hip, scanned the area for broken bones, and concluded the matter by dabbing a salve on the most tender areas and offering to bandage his ribcage for pressure.  The majority of healing would happen during the prisoners’ rest between fights, thanks to the nutrients packed into their tasteless meals. Only major injuries received real treatment--everything else had to be suffered through.  

 

“Lucky for you that malnant was using a blunt weapon,” Frell said, hopping onto the edge of the exam table.  

 

“Yay for me,” Keith grumbled.  He’d been stupid and he knew it.  He _really_ needed to stop trying to end fights early.  

 

Frell handed him a fresh set of clothes and Keith grimaced as he tugged the suit into place.  A whistle from the other side of the room made him snap up his head and growl.  His body was injured, _not_ on display.  

 

Frell patted Keith’s arm and motioned to the windows on the arena side of the room.  “Ignore them.  Let’s watch the Champion.”

 

Keith nodded and hobbled to an open space and stared out.  The fight was already underway and Keith had to say he was impressed.  The withdrawn man from the cell was gone and in his place stood a true warrior.  Every fiber of his being was alive and razor-focused and he moved with deadly grace.  He was power and fury barely but perfectly contained and Keith was as entranced as the audience was with his masterful performance.

 

When the head of his rival rolled free, the human stood slowly and looked out at the crowd.  It screamed his praise, and he...walked away.  Keith watched as the man seemed to disappear back inside himself, his shoulders hunching and his arms subtly beginning to cover himself.  Not only was the Champion not acknowledging the crowd’s affection--he was _hiding_ from it.  Keith wasn't sure how the human had gotten the reputation of “bloodthirsty”, but everything he saw spoke only of a warrior who loathed to fight.  It was confusing and fascinating.  There was a lot more to this person than he’d originally realized.

 

The human was halfway to the recovery room when a side door opened and a guard beckoned to him.  The Champion paused. 

 

“Looks like a fan has him today,” one of the prisoners said.

 

Keith watched the Champion’s face go utterly blank before the man followed the guard through the side door and was gone.

 

~*~*~

 

The death of a few of their cellmates came with a small reward: Keith and Frell were able to move to newly-free bunks, putting them further away from the shit pits.  There was a general shuffling of bunks before the prisoners bedded down, tired from their fights and uninterested in antagonizing each other to pass the time.  Keith noted that no one grieved for their fallen companions.  He also noted that no one touched the Champion’s area. 

 

“Wonder how long he’ll be gone,” Frell said, glancing at the empty alcove.

 

“A few vargas,” one of the prisoners grunted.  “No fan keeps anyone overnight.”

 

“Lucky bastard,” another prisoner said before spitting on the ground.  “Bet they feed him real food.”

 

“Bet he fucks them until they can’t see straight,” a third prison said.  “Wish I had rich fans.”

 

“With your ugly mug?” the first prisoner laughed.  “Your fans would send you a bag for your head and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

 

The teasing that followed was almost but not quite good-natured and Keith tuned it out.  His side and hip ached and the only comfort to be had was in sleep.  He slipped into blissful oblivion to the sound of Frell swapping jokes with their neighbor.

 

~*~*~

 

Keith woke up to a sharp, throbbing pain and groaned.  Right.  He’d fucked up yesterday.  He took a deep breath and rolled off the bunk, grunting when his feet hit the ground.  Fuck his side, and fuck his hip, and fuck bare feet on cold floors in the morning, and fuck everything. 

 

He hobbled to the shit pits and relieved himself.  

 

(Fuck shit pits.)

 

Keith shook the last drops of piss from his cock and tucked it away.  The only thing good about living nearer the pits had been the shorter commute, he thought wryly as he began to limp back to his new bunk.  His hip twinged painfully and Keith gasped.  _Fuck_ walking.  He collapsed on the nearest table and clenched his jaw, willing the wave of pain to pass.

 

The cell door opened and to Keith’s surprise the Champion walked in, his posture stiff with hidden injuries.  His jaw and eye were bruised and his hairline oozed dark blood.  What the hell?  Keith didn’t think the man had gotten injured during his fight.  Was this the work of a “fan”? 

 

Keith must have been staring because the Champion paused and looked at him.

 

“Good evening, Rick,” the Champion said, and he nodded to Keith before continuing his stiff and heavy walk to his bunk.  He lay down, back to the room, and fell asleep instantly.

 

Rick?  Was that a nickname or an insult or both?  

 

Keith had no answers--and he sure as hell wasn't going to wake up the Champion to find out more--so he eased off the table and renewed his journey to his bunk.  Whatever had just happened, it didn’t matter.  It wasn't his business anyway.

 

~*~*~

 

“Presents,” a guard called out as he strolled into the cell the next morning, pushing a cart covered mostly with food.  “Stay back until I call your number or the whole lot goes in the shit pit.” 

 

The cell grumbled to life as the prisoners stirred, groaning with each freshly remembered injury.  Frell poked Keith probably harder than was necessary until the  boy sat up, protesting.

 

“It’s not like I have fans already,” Keith yawned, batting away his excited companion.  Farwell, sleep.  It was nice to know you.

 

“You do, though!” Frell insisted.  “89-0071-34?  Isn’t that you?” 

 

It took a moment for Keith to remember--he was mostly called “Half” or “Runt”--but the 34 sounded familiar, and he _had_ been picked up in district 89, and he had not slept well enough to think back that far.  

 

“Half-runt!” the guard called again, sounding irritated.  “Are you 89-0071-34?”

 

Half-runt?  Yup.  That was him.  He limped forward and was given a loaf of purple bread.  

 

“There’s not much they’re allowed to give prisoners--and they have to bribe the guards to make sure the gifts arrive--but food and medicine are the most common items,” Frell informed him proudly, as if he hadn’t learned this two ticks earlier.  “Guards for popular cells make a _lot_ of money.”

 

“Are we popular?” Keith asked, sniffing the loaf suspiciously.  

 

“Of course,” Frell scoffed.  “We have the Champion.” 

 

Seemed like the guards could take better care of them, then.  On the other hand, guards probably got threatened and killed for positions if there was that much money to be made.  Plus, there would be bribes for letting certain prisoners win or lose.  There was an entire world of politics on the other side of the bars, and Keith could barely negotiate his way as it was.  Shit.

 

“Any chance you can digest Jipweed?” Keith sighed, offering the loaf to Frell.  

 

“Someone tried to poison you?” Frell asked curiously, examining the bread.  

 

Keith shrugged.  Jipweed was toxic to Galra but not to dozens of other species.  Keith’s genetic make-up would be a mystery to anyone who saw him, so the spice might have been a harmless addition.  Still, most people would assume he was half-Galra, based on his ears if nothing else… Yeah, someone tried to poison him.  What a great start to the day.

 

“Eat it or barter with it or throw it in the pits.  I don’t care,” Keith said to Frell when the little alien tried to hand back the loaf.  The creature’s face lit up immediately and Keith knew it was planning to barter. 

 

Keith hummed as he sat on the bunk, waiting for Frell to return.  He was not surprised that the majority of the gifts were for the Champion, and he was also not surprised that the Champion declined the gifts without so much as looking at them.  That sent the cell into a free-for-all as prisoner scrambled to grab the unclaimed the food and supplies and Keith tucked himself as far back on his bunk as possible to avoid getting involved in the fray.  Frell rejoined him moments later, victorious.

 

“Fish!” it cried happily, and Keith had to agree that was a huge step up from poisoned bread.  Hell, how long had it been since he’d had anything but mealy gruel?  Fish was heaven.

 

“You’re purring,” Frell said, munching on its portion of the feast.

 

“Shut up,” Keith replied, still purring, and they watched as the rest of the fighting died out, eating together in friendly silence.

 

~*~*~

 

Shiro watched the chaos with dead eyes.

 

_“I hear you got a gift.  Did you like it?”_

 

_“It was food.  I ate it.”_

 

_“Did you like how it tasted?  Did it taste better than me?”_

 

_“Shit tastes better than you.”_

 

_“Show me.  Prove that you would rather eat shit than suck my cock.”_

 

He winced as he rolled over, pulled his thin blanket a little higher, and fell back asleep.

 

~*~*~

 

Life fell into a pattern.  At least once every five quintants, there was an arena fight.  The winners received treatment and the following day were given whatever gifts they might have earned.  Sometimes Keith got gifts, sometimes Frell did.  The Champion always got more gifts than the rest of the cell combined, and he always declined them.  This usually meant Frell snagged a few scraps and the little creature was either generous enough to share or simply valued Keith’s alliance enough to help feed him, so overall Keith was doing better now than he had been in the previous arena.  

 

It was boring.

 

This was the largest arena in the Empire--the one visited on occasion by Zarkon himself!--and it was the highest achievement a prisoner or gladiator could hope for, but what was the point?  Keith didn’t want to live like this.  If a reeking cell and a bloody ring were all the more his future could hold, shouldn’t he just let himself die?  But, that was not honorable. 

 

(But how honorable could it be to live out his days as someone else’s plaything?)

 

The Champion, Keith noticed, did not always visit a “fan”, but every visit meant fresh injuries for the tired warrior.  It made sense, in a way, why someone would purchase time with the Champion only to abuse him--a pathetic chance to prove yourself mightier than the best gladiator by taking a whip to his back.  Still, Keith would have expected the Champion to have kinder suitors.  For a non-Galra he was very good-looking: broad, muscular, tall.  He was smaller than many Galra, of course, but his features were pleasing.  Surely half the audience would want him in their bed…!   His sadistic “fan” must be extremely wealthy or powerful if they were able to keep the Champion for their exclusive use.  Keith couldn’t help but pity him, even as his awe grew with every fight he witnessed.   The man was a god of battle somehow saddled with defeat.  It was a tragedy, but one that Keith kept his distance from.

 

Friendship brought no joy in a place like this, and what would a man like the Champion want with Keith anyway?  Besides, being allies with Frell was more than enough trouble.  Let the Champion take care of himself.

 

~*~*~

 

_“Why are you so loose back here?  Who touches you when I’m gone?”_

 

_There wasn't a correct answer, but silence was always the worst option._

 

_“I tried to make it easier.”_

 

_The laughter that followed was dark and full of venom._

 

_“If you wanted me to treat you nice, you never should have bit my cock.”_

 

_When it was over, spit hit his face._

 

_“Whore.”_

 

_Shiro couldn’t have said if there was more blood or cum when cleaned himself off, and either way he no longer cared._

 

~*~*~

 

Keith would have died if he hadn’t gone first.  He knew it in his gut as his heart went numb with shock.  Frell was dead.  No matter how fast you are, someone will always be faster, Keith reminded himself.  It was simply a matter of time.  For Frell, for Keith, for all of them, and Keith had gotten fucking _attached_ to the little creature, and watching the fruvian’s blood seep into the sand was an exercise in torture.  A hand twitched.  Shit shit shit Frell was still alive and the revna was ripping into its back, swallowing mouthfuls and _eating Frell alive_ and--

 

Keith vomited.  He heaved bile until his stomach clenched on nothing and still his gut churned with nausea.  

 

“Please die please die please die please die,” he chanted under his breath.  

 

“He’s fucking dead now, so get the fuck away from the window,” another prisoner hissed, kicking Keith to the side.  “You reek and you’re taking up space.”

 

Keith stumbled away and sank onto one of the cots.

 

“You need to shower,” an attendant said, pinching their nose.  “Go over there.”

 

Right.  The blood.  

 

Keith stared down at his arms.  He was coated in it, but none of it was his.  He didn’t even know what kind of creature he’d killed, but he’d sure made a fucking mess with it.   Shit.

 

The water was freezing.  Keith shivered as he scrubbed and the tingling cold sharpened his mind and brought him back to the present.  He _did_ stink.  He smelled like, like--

 

“Looking lovely over there,” a prisoner whistled.  “Just how wet are you?”

 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” someone else laughed.  “He killed a nebru hog.”

 

Keith’s blood ran colder than the water.  He might not have _seen_ a nebru hog before, but he sure as hell knew of them.  Their glands produced a powerful pheromone that many species used to initiate mating with unwilling partners and Keith was completely saturated in it.  He scrubbed harder.

 

A few more prisoners gathered to watch and even two guards joined in.  Shaking, Keith turned off the water and yanked on a new set of clothes. He knew he still reeked of the nebru hog, but he was far too vulnerable naked.  

 

He found the nearest corner and stood with his back to the wall, fangs and claws ready.  He was going to survive this.  He would make damn sure of it.

 

~*~*~

 

The side door didn’t open, and despite his determination not to care what happened anymore, Shiro sighed in relief.  Some days he was more than tired than others, and it had taken longer than usual to win. 

 

The recovery room was nearly empty by the time he entered it and after a short stay at the first aid station, he was cleared to return to the cell.  Thank god.  He was beyond ready to crawl in his bunk and forget he’d ever existed.

 

And so, of fucking course, there was a commotion when he got back to the cell.

 

Half the cellmates were crowded in a semicircle, trapping one prisoner in a corner.  Shiro had a mind to break it up just so he could get to sleep, but it might be faster to let it play out.  He evaluated the participants.

 

Rick.  It was Rick in the corner.  His ears were back, eyes wild, and fangs bared.  That kid was always so careful to stay out of the way--what the hell could he have done to attract so much attention?  

 

Shiro scanned the crowd.  No fruit man.  So, the kid was alone.  Dammit. 

 

“What’s going on, Rick?” Shiro said in a loud voice.  

 

Realizing who was speaking, crowd parted, and he strode forward to stand next to the terrified boy.  He shrank down even as he glowered up at Shiro, ears pressing back even further.  If the boy hadn’t been so frightened, it would have been cute.  

 

“He reeks like a bitch in heat,” someone offered with laughing howl.

 

“I killed a nebru hog,” Rick hissed back.

 

Shiro had no idea what the significance of that was, but apparently it was bad news for Rick.  “We all stink,” Shiro shrugged, trying to diffuse the tension.  Judging by the cackling of the crowd, he’d failed.  

 

Rick studied his face, frowning.  “You can’t smell it,” he said, still frowning.  

 

“The hog or whatever?  No, I can’t,” Shiro said, shrugging again.  He really couldn’t. 

 

“More for the rest of us,” one of the crowd said, elbowing their neighbor.  

 

Now it was Shiro’s turn to study Rick.  The crowd was more curious than dangerous, from what Shiro could tell, but the boy was actually shaking from fear.  He’d seen him stand firm in the arena against foes far larger than himself--was this just inflated worry because he no longer had his ally?   Shiro glanced back to the crowd, this time looking lower than their faces.  Several bulges--a lot of bulges, actually.  The kid definitely was in real danger.  

 

Before he could let himself think better of it, Shiro jerked his head toward his bunk.

 

“Follow me,” he said.  

 

Trembling, Rick did.  

 

“Top bunk,” Shiro said, unlatching it and pulling it open.

 

When the boy hesitated, Shiro lifted him up, noting with satisfaction that the kid didn’t try to scratch him when he scrambled to safety.

 

“Half of them would have to stretch to reach,” he explained.  Eyes wide, Rick nodded.   “Wake me up if you need to,” Shiro added, and without bothering to check what the crowd was doing, he curled up in his own bunk and went to sleep.

 

~*~*~

 

A new batch of prisoners arrived a few vargas later and Keith, knowing he still stank of nebru hog, remained on the top bunk and watched with despair and fury as his own bunk was claimed by a new arrival.  He tried not to cry when they found the shank Frell had given him.

 

~*~*~

 

_“I tried to be nice to you.”_

 

_“Don’t touch me.”_

 

_“It’s your fault if you don’t like it.”_

 

_“Don’t touch me.”_

 

_“You feel amazing on my cock.  Look at how much I spread you.”_

 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Shiro roared, striking out at the hand that had reached for him.  

 

A prisoner crumpled to the ground, dead.  Shiro didn’t recognize it.  He glanced around.  A new batch had arrived while he was asleep.

 

“I told you all: that’s the Champion,” one of the veteran prisoners said mildly.

 

God fucking damn the newbies.  

 

Shiro thumped the metal bottom of the bunk above him.  “Hey, Rick.  You still alive up there?”

 

“Yes,” Rick said quietly.

 

“Listen up, shits, because I’m only going to say this once: anyone who touches him is dead,” Shiro snarled.  He stared down anyone who dared make eye contact until the entire room was silent.

 

“Good night, Rick,” he grumbled, rolled over, and fell back asleep.

 

~*~*~

 

Keith had absolutely no idea how he’d won the Champion’s good favor, but he was grateful.  He also wasn't going to fucking risk it by buddying up to the man.  Any and all conversations they had, the Champion started.

 

“So why was your mother on Earth anyway?” the Champion asked one day.  

 

At the human’s invitation, Keith had sat down on the bunk next to him, and he was not a little nervous about it.  

 

“I don’t know.  She never told me,” Keith said, which was mostly true.   He knew she was there on a mission, but he had no idea what it was or even if she’d finished it.

 

The Champion frowned.  “Was she Galra?”

 

“Yes,” Keith admitted hesitantly.  The Galra couldn’t be high on the Champion’s list of acceptable people.  

 

The Champion continued to frown.  “When was this?  How old are you?”

 

Now it was Keith’s turn to frown.  “I don’t know what it would translate to for you.  I don’t know how Earth measures time.”

 

“Fair enough,” the Champion nodded, thankfully not angered by Keith’s answer.

 

They sat in silence for a while as the Champion contemplated this and Keith tried to guess what the Champion wanted.  

 

“There weren’t any Galra on Earth when I was captured,” the Champion said finally.  

 

“I don’t think Earth has been conquered,” Keith said, wondering if that was what the Champion was getting at.  “I’ve never seen any humans in the arena--other than you, I mean.  Usually a lot of new slaves end up here.”

 

There was definitely relief in the Champion’s face at Keith’s words.  “That’s true,” he said softly.  “I haven’t seen other humans.”  He thought a moment before turning to study Keith.  “Unless you’re part human.”

 

“Um, probably?” Keith said.  Put on the spot, he suddenly couldn’t remember if his mother had said his father was _human_ or just from Earth.  How many intelligent species lived there?  Oh right--the picture.  Keith smacked his forehead.  “Yes, yes my dad was human.  I think.  I saw a picture and he looked like you--same kind of face,” Keith said, gesturing vaguely.

 

“Two eyes, two ears, and a mouth?” the Champion guessed with something very close to a smile.

 

For some reason, Keith blushed.  He must look like an idiot, not even knowing his own _species_.  He was so fucking stupid.

 

“Well, do you want to know about Earth?” the Champion asked, now definitely smiling.  

 

“I dunno.  Is it interesting?” Keith asked.  He was curious, but he had no clue what to ask about.  What do people care about with planets--the plant life?  The weather?

 

“I think so,” the Champion said, “but I am pretty biased.  Do you like your home planet?”

 

“I don’t have one,” Keith said.  “I was born in space and, well, we moved around a lot.”  From secret base to secret base with my secret organization.  

 

“Oh,” the Champion said, looking disappointed.  “Well, Earth is nice.  The sky is blue and the oceans are big and the sunsets are amazing.”

 

Keith had the impression he was about to say more, but the Champion shut his mouth and his eyebrows creased.  He looked sad.

 

“That does sound nice,” Keith offered.  What the hell do you say to someone who was lonely for a _place_?

 

“Well,” the Champion said, shaking his head as if to clear it, “if you ever go there, stay out of sight.  Humans scare easy.”

 

Now that was bullshit.

 

“Really,” Keith said flatly, crossing his arms.  “ _ _ _Humans_ scare easy.”__

 

“Yes…?” the Champion said, puzzled.

 

“A race of _you_ scares easy.”

 

The Champion snorted a laugh.  “Okay, I can see why you’d think that, but most humans don’t know there are any kind of aliens at all.  You would terrify them, trust me.”

 

It still sounded like bullshit, but Keith had heard before that Champion came from a primitive planet, so maybe.  

 

(Maybe.)

 

“So listen,” the Champion said, licking his lips, “you’re too fast for your footwork to be that sloppy.”

 

“What?” Keith asked, puzzled by the sudden change of topic and surprised that the Champion had apparently watched his fights.

 

“You’re relying on speed but you’re losing half your advantage to sloppy footwork.”

 

“Okay,” Keith said slowly, “so how do I fix that?”

 

The Champion glanced around, looking pained.  “They don’t like it if we help each other train,” he said.  

 

“Alright, well, thanks for telling me I fucking suck, I guess,” Keith said lightly.  He’d meant it as a joke and thankfully the Champion laughed. 

 

“Just remember: patience yields focus,” the human smiled.  

 

“Patience.  Patience during the two ticks before the fight starts,” Keith deadpanned.  “Excellent.  Thanks.”

 

“Patience all the time, you punk,” the Champion smiled again.  “You need to always be patient.”

 

 _Wow, Kolivan would fucking like you_ , Keith thought.  “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” he said.  

 

Fighting tips from the Champion?  Huh.  Who would have guessed.

 

~*~*~

 

He was back.  Shiro knew it on instinct.  It had been two, three weeks now, maybe, and he was back.  Shiro didn’t even blink when the side door opened. 

 

~*~*~

 

“Heard you made a friend while I was gone,” the large Galra sneered when Shiro entered his room.  He cupped a hand to Shiro’s face.  “Strip.” 

 

Shiro shucked off his clothes, sticky with sweat and grime.  He considered folding them, just for something to do with his hands so they wouldn’t shake.  

 

“Am I not allowed to have a friend?” he said calmly.  

 

“Just wondering if you missed me,” the Galra said.  He eyed Shiro over.  “Turn.”

 

Shiro turned and closed his eyes.  Claws ghosted down his back. 

 

“Did he touch you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did you touch him?”

 

“No.”

 

“Not at all?” the Galra wondered.  Clawed fingers framed the outline of Shiro’s ass and two sharp thumbs gripped in to spread him.

 

“I gave him a boost to the top bunk once.  I guess I touched his armpits then.”

 

The Galra chuckled and let go.  “But he’s still your friend.”

 

“Am I not allowed to have a friend?” Shiro repeated.

 

“Of course you’re allowed to have a friend,” the Galra said.  “Bend over.  No.  On the table.”

 

Shiro walked to the table and bent forward, weight on his elbows.  A massive hand hit the center of his back, pressing him flat.

 

“I miss when you used to fight me,” the Galra said with something like a sigh.  “You’re practically useless to me now.”

 

Shiro bit his cheek and stayed silent.  The hand moved down his back again and then closed around a hip.  

 

“I saw your friend fight today.  He has potential.” 

 

Lips touched his shoulder in a mock-kiss and then fangs buried deep.  Shiro grunted but didn’t cry out. 

 

“I don’t know if I should be jealous, but at least you’ll be interesting for me again, won’t you?  Spread,” the Galra demanded, shoving a knee between Shiro’s legs. 

 

“Didn’t realize I was boring you,” Shiro said, gasping when the fangs punctured him again.  

 

“Maybe I should have you fight him in the ring.  No, you’re too heroic at heart, aren’t you?  Already pushed one friend out of the way,” the Galra mused, “you’d just fall on your sword again.  We can’t have that--I’m not done with you yet.” 

 

A too long tongue swiped across the fresh wounds on his shoulder.

 

“What will it take so you leave him alone?” Shiro asked.  He dreaded the answer but was sick of waiting for it. 

 

“You don’t want me to meet him?  You don’t want him to watch how you play with me?  You don’t want me to watch you play with him?” 

 

Claws dug into his hair and yanked his head back so hard Shiro choked.  

 

“Then don’t block it out today,” the Galra growled.  

 

It was hours before Shiro stopped screaming.

 

~*~*~

 

The Champion took a long time to come back, but it made sense.  It had been longer than usual since the side door had opened, after all, and the Champion’s fan probably had some pent up feelings to take out on him.  Keith dreaded seeing him, knowing he would be in especially bad shape, and even though he steeled himself for the Champion’s arrival, he felt sick when the cell door opened at last and the human stumbled in.  

 

He wasn't even trying to hide his pain today.  

Keith slipped off the top bunk and looped the Champion’s arm over his shoulder before the man could fall.  He blinked down at Keith, unseeing. 

 

“Rick…,” he said finally.

 

“Come,” Keith said quietly, guiding him to his bunk.  

 

The Champion cried out when he sat down and fell to his side with a gasp, breathing hard.  “Don’t touch me,” he whispered hoarsely.

 

“Okay,” Keith said, backing up.  

 

The Champion shook his head.  “Not that.”  He closed his eyes.  “It’s him.  He doesn’t like it.”

 

Keith’s stomach curled dangerously.  “Who doesn’t like what?” he asked, keeping his voice low so their cellmates wouldn’t overhear.  

 

“Sendak,” was all the human said.  He hugged himself as he curled on his side.  

 

Keith’s breath hitched.  He knew the name from his time with the Blades--it was Zarkon’s cruelest general, and it meant there was absolutely nothing he could do for this man.  

 

Knowing it was not nearly enough, Keith spread the Champion’s blanket over him and then added his own.  He crawled back onto his bunk and lay still, listening to the man below him. 

 

The Champion’s breathing stayed ragged all night, and Keith took comfort in knowing that if the man didn’t sleep, then at least it meant he didn’t dream.

 

(But then again, what nightmare could be worse than this?)

 

~*~*~

 

Maybe he should just tell Rick off.  He could scream at him in front of everyone, accuse him of something or just say he was tired of him.  He was pretty sure Rick would understand, and even if he didn’t, well…  But on the other hand, what would happen to someone the Champion had rejected?  What would the other prisoners do to him?  It was Shiro’s fault either way and _he should have fucking known better_.

 

“Gifts,” the guard called out.  “Stand back and wait or it goes in the shit pits.”

 

Morning already.

 

Rick’s legs appeared over the edge of the bunk and Shiro had a sudden urge to tickle his feet.  It was such a childish impulse that Shiro very nearly laughed out loud and a bittersweet wave of nostalgia washed over him as he remembered early days at the Garrison, pranking his roommates in the dormitory.

 

They would have liked Rick.

 

A scab itched and Shiro lifted his hand to scratch it.  The small movement sent a cascade of pain down his body as multiple injuries reminded him of their presence and the moment was shattered.  Right.  He wasn't in the Garrison.  He was in a cell, abused to hell, thousands of lightyears from home.  What the fuck was he doing?  The feet that dangled above him had cat-pads on the bottom and claws that sprang from the toes.  Rick wasn't human.  Rick wasn't even really his friend.  Why should Shiro add one more drop to his already overflowing cup of misery?   It wasn't worth it.

 

Rick dropped to the floor and fetched his gift.  Shiro hadn’t been paying much attention, but it seemed like Rick was getting more of those these days.  He wasn't surprised.  A skilled, attractive young fighter?  Shiro gave it a month before the kid was either dead or hailed as the up-and-coming Champion-to-be.   

 

Rick returned from the gift cart, munching on a strip of meat and fumbling with a package of bandages.  He gave a satisfied grunt when he managed to pull one free. 

 

“Here,” Rick said, offering the bandage.  “This is for you.  It’s got some kind of painkiller in it, but I don’t know how it will affect a human.  It should at least help with the bleeding.”

 

“Rick,” Shiro said firmly, holding his hand up to stop the half-Galra from coming closer.  It was a nice gesture, but Shiro thought he’d been clear the night before that they needed to stay at a distance and he had to swallow back his annoyance.  “You know I can’t take that from you.”

 

Rick paused and bit his lip.  “That was punishment, not payment?” he asked quietly, eyes reassessing Shiro’s wounds.

 

Fuck, this kid was sharp.  He just didn’t get the full picture.  

 

“I don’t know,” Shiro said with a sigh, “but it was to me.”

 

“It was what to you?” Rick frowned.

 

“It was a punishment to _me_ ,” Shiro said repeated. _Please don’t make me spell it out_.

 

Rick’s eyes widened with understanding.  

 

“Should I...should I go…?” he asked.  “If I stay away, will that help you?”

 

 _Help you_ .  Not help himself--he wanted to know how to help _the Champion_.   The half-Galra had a fucking heart of gold.  God only knew how a kid like him ended up a top gladiator of an intergalactic empire.  

 

“I don’t know if anything would help at this point,” Shiro said, realizing the truth of it as he said it.  All either of them could do was wait and see if--or more likely when--Sendak would insist on meeting Shiro’s new friend.  Shiro had “saved” Rick almost as an afterthought and had doomed the poor kid to join him in the sadistic pleasures that the twisted general would require, and Shiro couldn’t think of a single goddamn way to prevent it.  

 

It was only a matter of time.

 

He should have just stayed the fuck out of it.  He should have stayed away.

 

(But, until then, was it really so wrong for him to hold onto the one speck of light he’d found in his ocean of darkness?)

 

~*~*~

 

There was something dark on the ship and Keith knew it: he could feel it in his bones.  Something foul was making the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, something that he couldn’t identify.  Growling low in his throat, he stalked the end of the cell, back and forth. The Champion noticed his agitation and asked wryly how his focus and patience were coming along, and Keith snorted at him before continuing his pacing.  The Champion chuckled and remained where he was, lying on his bunk to rest and hopefully heal. 

 

Prowling wasn't helping, but there wasn't anything else to do in the cell--aside from fighting other prisoners, of course.  Actually, that was not a terrible idea.  After all, Sendak was getting his information from _some_ where.  

 

Keith scanned the cell.  Which of his cellmates was the spy?  Generally, prisoners left each alone, but it wasn't like they couldn’t eavesdrop while placidly staring in a different direction.  

 

“You looking for something to do, kitty?” a large grimral drawled.

 

Keith had it slammed to the wall in an instant, claws digging meaningfully into its exposed throat.

 

“You volunteering?” Keith hissed.  

 

Several aliens turned their heads.  Well, making a scene hadn’t been his intent, but Keith had been hiding and cowering far too much since coming to this new ship.  These people needed to know that he was every bit as much a gladiator as the rest of them.

 

“Just making small talk,” the grimral said carefully, posture stiff and breathing shallow.  It’s skin had started to yellow--its species’ way of apologizing. 

 

Keith continued to eye it for a moment, just long enough for the room to grow nervous, and then let go.  “I don’t care to talk,” he said. 

 

The grimral slunk away and the rest of the room resumed its facade of ignoring each other.  Message sent.  Hopefully.

 

“Please don’t make trouble I’ll need to clean up,” the Champion said with a sigh.  He hadn’t moved and looked bored.  Keith suspected it was his way of letting the other prisoners know he was prepared to back Keith up, but it rankled him anyway.

 

“You don’t need to do anything for me,” he growled.  His skin was crawling with the itch to fight and maim and hide and cower all at once.  Whatever was on the ship was _powerful_.

 

“Noted,” the Champion grunted.  

 

They didn’t say anything else to each for the rest of the day.

 

~*~*~

 

That evening, a pair of robed guards took the Champion away.

 

~*~*~

 

It had been two quintants since the Champion had left and Keith knew it was time to stop hoping.  He hoped anyway.  The Champion was too powerful, too _valuable_ for anything to happen to him.  Surely no one had the money or influence to overrule Sendak’s claim…!  Unless, of course, the culprit was Sendak himself.  Keith buried the thought, shoved it down to where he’d left his hopes for freedom or to see his mother again.  

 

The Champion would be back.  

 

(There was a fight tomorrow, after all.  The crowd be furious if they were denied their favorite.)

 

The Champion would be back.

 

A newbie made the mistake of asking Keith where his “bodyguard” was.  It was the first time he’d killed someone that wasn't related to a mission or self defense.  The guards grumbled about “cleaning up the mess” but didn’t reprimand him otherwise.

 

 _“Please don’t make trouble I’ll need to clean up,”_ the Champion had said.  

 

Keith slunk back to his bed to stay out of the way while he waited.  

 

“Patience yields focus,” he whispered to himself and closed his eyes.  The Champion would be back.

 

And suddenly, as if by magic, he was.

 

~*~*~

 

Rick had been waiting.

 

(Of course Rick had been waiting.)

 

Eyes wide, ears perked, the half-Galra was off his bunk and halfway across the cell before he saw it: the arm.  

 

Rick stopped dead.

 

Without saying a word or breaking his stride, Shiro patted him on the head and lay down on his bunk.  

 

~*~*~

 

His arm was gone.  The Champion’s arm was gone.  Was it Sendak?  The dark energy?  Someone had _cut off the human’s arm_ and replaced it a robotic one and Keith was dizzy before he remembered to breathe.  Distantly, he knew he needed to stay away from the Champion, but Keith was kneeling at his bunk before he regained control of his conscious thought.  

 

The Champion shivered and Keith spread his blanket over him--the Champion hadn’t even bothered to pick it up.  As he bent over to arrange the blanket, his ears caught a tiny sliver of a sound from a voice so fragile he might have imagined it.

 

“I didn’t think I had anything left for them to take.”  

 

It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair that cruel things kept happening to this man and it wasn't fair that Keith couldn’t so much as stroke his hair without making things worse.  There was nothing he could do--nothing except stay away.

 

Furious tears blurred his eyes and Keith sank down onto the floor.  Hints of the dark energy still hovered over the Champion and the stench of it curled in Keith’s gut.  The energy, the robed guards, the senseless removal of an arm...this was the work of the druids.  The human’s hair had even changed--the front strands were now white and Keith had heard rumors that people changed appearances when druids took them.  Keith tucked his knees up to this chin and wrapped his arms around his legs, hugging himself.  It made sense.  He knew a bit about the druids from mission briefings with the Blades. They were led by the witch Haggar and frequently experimented on new species.  A warrior as skilled as the Champion would be a perfect subject. 

 

Keith shivered and hugged himself closer.  If the Champion did well tomorrow--especially if he used his newly weaponized arm--what would become of him?  Would the druids be satisfied?  Would they take more limbs?

 

_“I didn’t think I had anything left for them to take.”_

 

Keith buried buried his face in his knees to hide a fresh wave of tears.  It wasn't fair.  If the Champion did well, he’d lose more of himself.  If he did poorly, he might be scrapped altogether.  Keith had long suspected some of his more grotesque opponents were failed experiments.  If that happened to the Champion, would Keith have to face him one day, too?   Should Keith tell him not to use his arm--or would that make it worse? 

 

There was no possible way to make any of this better.  This wasn't a story he wanted to know the end of. 

 

Keith sat guard in front of the Champion’s bed all night, hoping his presence offered some measure of comfort, never quite able to decide if he should throw his next fight.  

 

~*~*~

 

It was fight day, and the side door was open.  Shiro willed himself not to vomit.  Not now.  Not before his fight.  He had to keep it together because Rick needed him.  Rick had walked through the door with dignity and maybe maybe maybe he wasn't headed to Sendak.  What the fuck had Shiro been thinking, letting Rick stay the night beside him!  But this wasn't right--this wasn't how Sendak worked.  He always toyed with Shiro more than this.  There should have been _weeks_ of bargaining, taunting, pleading.  God, he should have warned Rick explicitly about what could--what almost certainly _would_ \--happen.

 

“It’s my fight next,” he announced, stepping forward.

 

“Two in front of you,” the guard corrected.

 

“It’s my fight next,” Shiro growled, eyes flashing.  Heat surged down his arm and it began to glow.  “My. Fight.”

 

The guard’s eyes were pleading as the man backed away.  “Please, there are two more contestants from the other cell block and if the Champion doesn’t go last--”

 

“Send them all out,” Shiro snapped.  He grabbed the barred door to the ring with his new hand and grinned with manic satisfaction as it melted immediately.  

 

He strode out into the ring.  The crowd roared its approval.  His name--no, not his name, _never_ his name--echoed across the arena, the cries of “Champion!” falling like hail around him.  Fuck them.  Fuck every last one of them for cheering.  This place reeked of death and misery and they loved it all.  For the briefest moment, Shiro considered launching himself at the wall, seeing if he could make it to the audience and find out just how many of them he could kill before he was put down--but no.  Rick.  Rick needed him.

 

He turned to the other cage doors.

 

“Let them out,” he commanded.  

 

The doors opened and, arm glowing, Shiro sprang forward with a snarl.  His first opponent was dead before they could draw their weapon.  The second creature leapt forward, massive club swinging down.  Shiro’s arm sliced through the club and into the creature’s skull.  He prowled in front of the cage, waiting for the third. 

 

The crowd was deafening now.  Shiro ignored it in favor of focusing on the door.  There was scrambling and shouting behind it and he could see through the bars that the aliens were arguing.  He grinned.  They could send whoever they wanted--he’d kill them just the same.

 

A hint of shadow shifted on the wall in front of him and Shiro sprang to the side, narrowly dodging a blast of sizzling energy.  They’d sent his third opponent through a different door.  Clever. 

 

The creature was three times his size and had whip-like tentacles covered in barbs, each one blazing.  His arm probably wasn't going to do much to that.  Fuck.  And, because he was an idiot, he’d rushed out without a weapon.  “Patience fields focus” indeed. 

 

Shiro eyed the two corpses to his left.  He’d already destroyed the club, but the first creature had brought a spear.  Perfect.

 

The creature advanced forward and Shiro had to dodge three more blasts before he made it to the spear.  He lunged to grab it, scooping it up and whirling to throw it in the same motion.  It impaled the beast through the eye and the creature fell, foaming and twitching.

 

Not willing to repeat his earlier brashness, Shiro waited until the creature stilled and then pulled the spear free before striking three more times to insure the creature was dead.  Once satisfied, Shiro dropped the spear and strode to the side door, pounding on it and until it opened.  His anger had not cooled in the slightest by the time he reached Sendak’s chambers.

 

“Where is he,” Shiro snarled.

 

Sendak was naked already, stroking himself as he relaxed on a lounge.  

 

“Who?”

 

“You know who,” Shiro glared, striding up to the lounge and staring down at the Galra.

 

Sendak spread his legs a little wider and adjusted himself, grinning.

 

“I am not the one attending to your little friend--Rick, I think his name was,” Sendak said mildly.  

 

Rick.  Sendak knew his name.  It wasn't a surprise, but it disgusted him to his core hear Sendak say it.

 

“You were so good for me last time--why would you think I had him,” Sendak continued.  “Didn’t you behave?  Do you have something to confess?”

 

“I have nothing to confess,” Shiro said evenly.  “That’s why I’m angry.”

 

Sendak shrugged.  “As I said, I don’t have him.”

 

The fingers on Shiro’s new arm twitched.  

 

“And does she?” he asked, voice dark and quiet.  Sendak had not interfered with Shiro’s “upgrade”.  Had that been a veiled warning for what else could be done to torment them?

 

Sendak merely shrugged again.  “I love to see you full of fight again, but talking to you bores me.  Are you getting to something meaningful or do I need to find something to shut you up with?”

 

Shiro knew what he wanted.  He did not hesitate.

 

“What would it take for you to keep him safe?”

 

Cruel, delighted pity played over Sendak and he stood up, towering over Shiro.  “Do you even have anything left to give?”

 

Shiro did not move an inch.  “Try me,” he growled.

 

Sendak grinned as he leaned down, a clawed hand encircling Shiro’s throat.  

 

“From now on, you will always ask. For. More,” he whispered.

 

Shiro did not leave the room that night.

 

~*~*~

 

Rick was waiting for him.  Relief washed over Shiro like a soothing wave to see the half-Galra’s ears perk up happily at seeing him.  He was safe.  Rick was safe. 

 

“Hi,” Rick said with a smile, hopping off Shiro’s bunk and trotting up to him.  

 

(That punk seriously had the audacity to wait on _Shiro’s_ bunk.  Good god.)

 

“What happened to you?  Are you okay?” Shiro asked.  A painful thought crept into his mind: perhaps Sendak had planned even this much, having Rick go through the door for nothing, but then what did it matter either way?  So what if Shiro had traded himself when Rick was safe--just because he’d been safe this time, it was no guarantee for later.  No, Shiro had made the right decision.

 

Rick looked surprised.  “Of course I am,” he said, blinking before frowning.  “What about you?”

 

“Not great,” Shiro admitted with a tired smile.  It had been hell, but hell now had nuances and gradations.  Call it an 8/10.

 

Rick’s frown deepened.  “How well can you walk?”

 

“I can make it to the shit pits when I need to,” Shiro shrugged, sitting down gingerly on the edge of his bunk.  Being able to do that much was enough; it was all he needed to do for the next several days. 

 

Rick’s frown deepened further.  “Hold on a moment,” he said before disappearing to his own bunk.  He rummaged under his thin mattress and jumped back down, this time with bandages.  “You need these.”

 

“Rick…,” Shiro sighed.  “We’ve been over this.”  This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to keep having.  He had bought Rick’s safety for now, but Sendak could only be appeased for so long.  No need to make things head south sooner than necessary.

 

“Champion,” Rick said sharply, squaring his shoulders and looking almost-but-not-quite intimidating.  “You.  Need.  These.”

 

Shiro hesitated before accepting the bandages.  He should say no, but _god_ he was so fucking tired.  Sendak might not have been as cruel this time, but it had gone on for so long, and now that he had the relief of knowing Rick was okay, his adrenaline was utterly spent.  He just didn’t have the strength to argue further, and god was there _any_ part of him that didn’t fucking ache to the bone?  Maybe he could claim that he needed the extra healing if he was expected to keep winning.  That might work.  Might.  Only, one small problem--

 

“I can’t put these where I need them,” he said quietly.  

 

Rick’s face softened.  “Do you trust me to help you?”

 

“I do, but…,” Shiro said, still quiet.  He glanced around at their neighbors.  He couldn’t do this without privacy.  He _couldn’t_.  

 

Understanding covered Rick’s face and he reached up again to his bunk, this time tucking part of his blanket under his mattress and allowing the rest to hang down, forming a small curtain.  Shiro swallowed back the sudden urge to cry.  Wow.  Just how weak was he now that such a small measure of kindness all but wrecked him?

 

Blinking hard to clear his eyes, Shiro knelt on his bunk and tried to get out of his clothes.  A whimper escaped his lips before he could bite it back.

 

“Do you want me to help?” Rick asked quietly.  

 

No.

 

“Yes,” Shiro whispered.

 

Careful hands tugged down his clothes, mindful of how the fresh wounds stuck to the fabric.

 

“I’m sorry,” Rick murmured.  

 

A bandage was placed on his back.  Shiro knew the spot--a particularly deep lash wound.  He had asked for twenty before the Galra was satisfied.

 

“That’s not where I need it,” he whispered hoarsely, ashamed.  

 

“I have enough,” Rick said, smoothing on another bandage.  

 

Shiro clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut.  He didn’t want this.  He didn’t want Rick to see what happened to him.  It shouldn’t matter--the kid was smart, he knew what happened--but he didn’t want Rick to _know_ what happened.  

 

“I’m going to go lower now,” Rick said gently.  

 

“I know,” Shiro said.

 

Shame flooded him as the cloth descended.  He couldn’t imagine what he looked like--how many scars did he have now?  How much still hadn’t healed?  And Rick had to pull the suit down past his knees so Shiro could spread enough for Rick to fully access the wounded tissues.  

 

He cried then, silently.  It was just a few tears, hot and hated, that rolled off his cheeks and onto his fists.  Rick warned him before every touch until Shiro whispered--harsher than he meant--that he didn’t need to know.  Why was he doing this?  Why was he letting himself be seen and touched and exposed when all he wanted was to hide?  But the touches were so gentle, were so deliberate and careful and never lingered.  The pain eased with every bandage.  

 

(And wasn't it okay for him to cling to the one spot of light he had while he still could?)

 

“Anywhere else?” Rick asked at last.  

 

“No,” Shiro lied.  Rick didn’t need to see his chest, too.  

 

(But god, didn’t Rick deserve to see it?  Didn’t Rick deserve to know the fate Shiro had doomed him to one day share?)

 

If Rick knew he was lying--and he probably did--he didn’t let on.  The clothes were eased back into place.  It was over.

 

Rick shuffled back to give Shiro his space.  

 

“Thank you,” Shiro said after a moment.  

 

“My mother said humans hug.  Is that true?” Rick said, voice very serious.

 

“Well, yes,” Shiro said, turning around.  Rick was about to hug him, wasn't he?  “But that’s--”

 

Rick pulled him to his chest for the briefest of hugs and then patted him on the head.  “You did perfect.  Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Shiro said automatically, baffled.  The kid had just _thanked_ him?

 

Rick hummed acknowledgement and asked if he could pull his blanket back up now because he wanted to sleep.  Shiro assured him that was fine and the half-Galra crawled up to his bunk after wishing him goodnight.  It was morning now, of course, but Shiro knew Rick had waited up for him.  He swallowed a lump before settling down for his own rest.

 

Shiro would need to talk him later, when both of them weren’t so tired.  There was no way Rick didn’t understand the essence of what Sendak did, but it was still important to explain what might happen and when.  God, how could he tell that poor kid?  The lump sprang back into his throat.  What if Rick hated him?

 

Rick’s head suddenly appeared, upside down, over the edge of his bunk, long hair comically hanging behind him like an exclamation point.

 

“By the way,” he said, “my name is Keith.  You can keep calling me Rick, though.  I don’t mind.”

 

“Okay,” Shiro said, stunned at the sudden offering of personal information.  Keith, huh.  Definitely a human name.  “Um, okay, Keith.”

 

Keith grinned.  “Oh, and I might need to wake you up later, so please don’t punch me.”

 

“I absolutely cannot guarantee that,” Shiro warned, trying to joke and probably failing.  

 

The half-Galra laughed anyway and disappeared.

 

And somehow, that laugh brought peace.  He’d protected that.  With his blood and his body he had protected something precious and a light grew in his chest.  Reason--that was what his pain had lacked.  There had been no _reason_ behind any of it, but now?  Now he had Rick--or rather, Keith.  He could suffer for Keith if he needed to.

 

He let the peace seep into him.  The last time he’d felt like this was when he’d taken the fight for Matt.  There had been a purpose back then and he hadn’t regretted it, not even when his reputation isolated him from his fellow prisoners.

 

Matt.  Shiro wondered what had happened to him and his father.  He hoped they were well.  Surely if they’d died Sendak would have taunted him with it.   

 

Shiro closed his eyes.  Matt and Sam and Keith were as safe as he could make them, and in an odd way, he had won.  He had taken the power back into his hands because now he _chose_ to give up his body.  Keith was safe, at least for now.  Shiro had won.

 

His sleep was the deepest it had been for months.

 

~*~*~

 

Keith knew what the side door meant for the Champion.  He also knew it meant something entirely different for the other members of their cell: food, medicine, sometimes training, frequently sex.  God only knew what the door would mean for him, but when it opened, Keith had walked through it without hesitating.

 

He wasn't keen to meet any fan--it was repulsive to think of the people who applauded his imprisonment and what nearly amounted to murder--but a fan who had purchased sex?  Keith was not a whore.  He hadn’t held any romantic notions of his first time, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be with a stranger who was complicit with his current hellish existence.  Still, he didn’t want to attack a “fan” and end up getting killed by a guard.  Perhaps the fan would allow him to beg out of it…? A vision of Sendak flashed through his mind.

 

If it was Sendak he would kill him or die trying.

 

Come to think of it, there were dozens of high-ranking targets that frequented the arena.  What if it were one of them?  Even if all they wished was to feed him, he would gladly trade his life to kill them.  He might not be one of the Blades’ assassins, but he could hardly ask for a better opportunity. 

 

Keith squared his shoulders as he continued his long march to the fan’s quarters.  This had just become a mission.

 

What would happen to the Champion?

 

Where the hell had that thought come from?  Why would anything happen to the Champion if Keith died while killing a fan?  The Champion didn’t need him.  Hell, his life would be infinitely easier without Keith in it.  Keith was all too aware that his presence angered Sendak, and it sickened him to know that he caused the Champion more suffering, however inadvertently.  The Champion was a good man, or at the very least he had been, and he had saved Keith.

 

And he would be better off if Keith were dead.

 

Still, Keith wished he could say goodbye or, if nothing else, tell him that he had taken the Champion’s advice about his footwork.

 

Maybe the fan would be harmless.

 

Six floors, eight turns, twenty-nine blocks and Keith had arrived.  The door opened.  Keith kept his face neutral as the guards left.

 

“Hello,” he said calmly, his steady voice hiding his inner shaking.  Was he allowed to react…?  Was the room secure…?

 

“Keith,” the Galra said, and he opened his arms.

 

Keith rushed into the embrace with a sob.

 

“Ulaz,” he cried.

 

“Hush, hush my young one,” Ulaz said, cradling him closer.  “You’ve done so well.  I’ve seen it all.  I’m sorry I could not contact you sooner.”

 

“It’s okay,” Keith said, voice muffled by the Galra’s broad chest.  “I knew what would happen when I got caught.  I wasn't expecting anything from anyone.”  He pulled back.  “Does my mother know?”  He hoped not.  He hoped he’d simply been reported dead.  For all practical purposes it was true.

 

“She’s still undercover, but I can pass a message on for her later.”

 

“Well, of course tell her I love her, and tell her the rest of the words are ‘Never gonna make you cry you, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you’,” Keith said seriously.

 

Ulaz blinked.  “A code…?”

 

Keith shook his head.  “Human song lyrics.”

 

“Ah, does this mean you have spoken with the Champion?  Have gained his trust at all?  I had hoped for such.  It was difficult to insure your transfer to his cell, but I suspected your shared nature would prove useful,” Ulaz said, nodding his approval.

 

“You... planned this?” Keith frowned.  “For how long?”

 

“Since shortly after you were captured.  We knew you would be able to rise high in the arena.  From there it was a matter of directing which ship you would end up.  You might not have realized your role in this mission, but it was critical and you have met each of our expectations perfectly,” Ulaz said fondly.  “I only wish I could have spoken to you sooner.”

 

Keith’s head swarmed with confusion.  How was this a mission?  And why was it critical that he be the one in the arena?  It must have to do with the Champion being human, but why would that matter?

 

“Keith,” Ulaz said, resting his hands on Keith’s shoulders.  “We don’t have much time.  Sometime with the next 20 vargas there will be a series of explosions due to a faulty generator.  As a result, all cells will open and the sentries for multiple floors will be deactivated.  You need to take the Champion and flee to the coordinates I give you.  There will be a ship with supplies available at the end of the second starboard hanger on the 83rd floor.  You are to take him back to Earth and wait for further instructions.”

 

“What…?” Keith said faintly.  “Why Earth?  And why the Champion?”

 

“There is a powerful weapon hidden on that planet.  That is why your mother ended up there.  We need you to bring the Champion there so he can warn the humans of the possibility of a Galra invasion.  With luck, that won’t come to pass.  We are not currently able to remove the weapon, but it is our goal to retrieve it and hide it again before the Galra Empire learns of its location.  I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain more,” he said, pulling Keith back in for a hug. 

 

After a quick review of the relevant instructions, they exchanged one last hug and Keith headed back to cell 19-329.  His head was spinning with the news.  Tomorrow.  He’d be able to free himself and the Champion tomorrow.  He’d get them both as ready as could and then...well, he’d have to complete with a few hundred prisoners to make it to freedom, but if he was careful--and had just a little luck--then by this time tomorrow, he and the Champion would be well on their way to safety.

 

When he made it back to 19-329, the Champion’s bunk was empty.   _Patience fields focus_.  The Champion would be back, and tomorrow they’d be free or die trying.

 

Tomorrow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize thoroughly for the rickroll. I wanted Keith to have a dumb reason to talk to Shiro… I’ve read a lot of arena fics where Shiro is like “what a beautiful person--I must protect them” but my Shiro is too broken for that. Keith just fucking shocks the hell out of him, so he’s more aware after that, if that makes sense…??? Shiro’s sense of self and his humanity have been pretty much beaten out of him at this point, so I had to do something that would wake him up, and I reeeeally didn’t see sexual/romantic attraction as the thing that would do it. So. A rickroll. Because I am a terrible human being. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> The rest of this fic will be less dark in that Shiro is now completely free of Sendak. Uh, so to speak. He’s got a lot of healing to do but--spoiler alert--he doesn’t get recaptured or anything. So, this is probably the worst chapter? >_< Depending on the things that bother you, I guess. 
> 
>  
> 
> I feel...conflicted I guess is the best word about writing about rape. I don’t think rape should be a plot point just for the sake of heightened drama. But, Shiro was a slave and I wanted to really, really show his helplessness in this situation. Also, Sendak is a cruel, sadistic bitch. I can easily see him enjoying “conquering” a person the same way he would a planet. It fit. So, a whump fic for Shiro. ← Popular thing to do in this fandom. Poor guy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Big shout/apology to my boy Frell. Didn’t even plan to make you a real character and then you had a terrible death. My bad. (If you want: interpret it as Frell not being alive while eaten--his hand only twitched cause the baddie was chewing on him. Keith still thinks Frell was alive and that’s the main thing.)
> 
>  
> 
> SHIRO’S ARM CAN TOTALLY CUT THROUGH STUFF AND THAT IS CANON. I mean, we all know the arm is legit Badass, but in my version, Shiro knows some more of its capabilities from the get go. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Did y’all find it weird that only the clone had long hair? Who was keeping Shiro so Fresh & Tidy in prison?? And that’s why my Shiro has long hair. Not because I like it or anything. Nope.)
> 
>  
> 
> I’m really hoping in Season 8 we find out why Haggar was so into Shiro. I mean, I get it *eyes emoji*, but was he just a randomly good subject??? Why was fucking ZARKON and not a scout near Earth anyway, and why bring three random barbarian peasants to the fucking Emperor in the first place??? Are humans also good quintessence mobiles like Alteans????? Well, my answer in this fic is: Shiro did great in the arena so Haggar was like “fit him with something shiny” and he wasn't like, an AMAZING subject, so he didn’t get turned into a robeast. 
> 
>  
> 
> Annnnnd. Um. Hello. Yes. I didn’t finish the fish fic yet. I’ve written maybe a fifth of that last chapter??? It’s a long chapter made with fluff and smut and love and my soul said “lol, let’s write some suffering instead” so this happened. FISH WILL HAPPEN. I miss my fish bois. 
> 
>  
> 
> Other news: Looks like tumblr is launching itself into the flaming oblivion. Wtf. Soooo I’ll be making a Pillowfort. :) Which is to say a profile on that website--not an actual pillowfort. Well, maybe that too. Sounds fun. In the meantime, my twitter handle is @decidedlysarah and I’ll still be on tumblr until at least Dec 17, at which point they will probably purge my smutty butt. Sorry for being horny on main. .___. My bad.
> 
> (Btw, planning to do big chapters for this fic, because reasons.)


	2. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an escape plan is enacted, Keith gets to be badass, and Shiro signs him up for Cat Facts.
> 
> (The author is incapable for taking anything seriously for more than 10 minutes at a time, sorry.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings for this chapter. Violence, I guess? But last chapter's was worse, so you'll be fine.

Though it had to have been on the other side of the ship, the explosion still knocked Shiro from his bed.  Pain shot through his back where he’d landed on the lash wounds and he gasped, dazed and confused.  Most of the cell was groaning or panicked, but when Keith hopped down from his bunk he looked downright pleased.

 

“Let’s get you up,” he said, easing Shiro to a sitting position.  “How are you are you doing?  Can you walk?  Can you run?”

 

“I can sit up,” Shiro said.  He looked around him in confusion.  “What the hell is happening?”

 

A second explosion rocked the cell.  

 

“There’s going to be two more, and then the cell will open.  The lights will be out.  Do you trust me?” Keith said.  His eyes were focused solely on Shiro, the rest of the room disregarded despite the prisoners yelling, cursing and stumbling over each other.  

 

“I do,” Shiro said automatically.  And when the hell had that happened?  This was looking like a prison break and why did Keith know about it and seriously, when had this bone-deep trust sprung up?  A third explosion went off, this time louder and definitely closer.  Shiro swayed dangerously and Keith caught him.  Self analysis could wait.

 

“I can see in the dark.  I’ll guide us out,” Keith promised.  “Is there anything you want to take with you?”

 

“Hell no.  Where are we going?”  Shiro said, trying to balance on his own.  His muscles were stiff and protesting but the adrenaline would clear that up momentarily.

 

“As far as I can get us,” Keith said firmly.  He glanced around them to see if anyone was listening and then leaned close.  “Earth,” he whispered.

 

Earth.  Keith wanted to take him to _Earth_?  What the actual fu--

 

This time the explosion came from what had to be the next cell over and someone screamed as the lights went out.  Keith’s hand was entwined through his own in the work of an instant.

 

“I’ve got you, Champion,” Keith told him with a reassuring squeeze.  “Follow me.” 

 

Easier said than done--the gravity on the ship must have been damaged because the floor was beginning to tilt.  Angry inmates and frightened guards stumbled into each other and fought around them in the dark.  It was all Shiro could do to stay upright and trust that the hand he clung to could guide him to safety.  

 

“Letting go,” Keith said sharply.  There was a wet scream and a thump as something hit the floor.  Footsteps fled down the hall.

 

“Keith?” Shiro called hesitantly.  He fought back panic.

 

Another wet sound.

 

“Got him,” Keith’s voice announced.  

 

The hand curled around his again.  

 

“We’re going to need to climb, if you can.  If you can’t, I can take us the longer route,” Keith said.

 

“Climb what?  Stairs?” Shiro asked.   _Were_ there any stairs on the ship?

 

“An air duct,” Keith corrected.  “Oh wait--they have guns.  Change of plans.” The hand left his again just as the ship began to right itself.  Shiro fell heavily to the floor. It was wet. 

 

Shots fired from the next hall over and Shiro caught a glimpse of a blurred silhouette framed by purple light.  

 

“Rick?” he whispered.

 

A hiss followed by two more shots.

 

“Keith?” he said, a little louder.  He struggled to his feet and turned on his arm.

 

“Oh wow!  It glows!” came Keith’s voice.  He padded closer.  Shiro’s eyes adjusted to the light and he saw that the half-Galra was now carrying a gun.  “Does it do anything else?”

 

“It melts stuff,” Shiro said.  “What happened?  Are you okay?”

 

“Nicked my arm but I’m fine,” Keith said.  He listened carefully, ears swiveling as he evaluated which path to take.  Shiro could make out fighting echoing from all directions, some of it nearby.  Should he turn off his arm to dose the light?  Keith, however, did not seem concerned, just careful.

 

“This way,” he said, taking Shiro’s hand again.  

 

Shiro followed Keith through a maze of black hallways, watching him with something like awe.  This was Keith, the real Keith--Keith as he was meant to be.  Silent, precise, deadly.  He was a sharpened knife, a honed dagger.  Where Shiro would trip, Keith would glide.  Shiro had formed the impression early on that Keith had been trained in combat, but this went beyond that.  He must be a spy or an assassin-- _some_ kind of covert operative.  What the hell was he doing here?  Had he come for Shiro?  But no, that was nonsense.  Who the hell would care if Shiro lived or died?  No, Keith was being freed for some reason and had decided to bring along the man who had saved him.  Shiro set his shoulders.  He sure as hell wasn't going to be dead weight.

 

“Are we heading to a hanger?” he asked.  

 

“Second starboard hanger on the 83rd floor,” Keith said crisply.  “Last ship on the left.”

 

Specific.

 

“Who sent you?” Shiro asked and regretted it immediately.  As if they had time for that discussion.

 

Keith paused.  “No one,” he said hesitantly.  “I messed up and got here all on my own.”  

 

Shiro couldn’t read Keith’s expression in the low light, but he gathered from his tone that the boy was embarrassed.  It painted an odd picture: a trained and lethal operative with confidence in his skills but not in himself.  Perhaps it was because he was still young.

 

“I’ll explain when we’re free,” Keith promised.  

 

“Sounds good.  Tell me what to do and where to go,” Shiro said.  

 

“Since we’re both armed I can risk broader hallways.  The main thing is to reach the hangers before too many of the other prisoners do.  I’m sure some guards will have been sent to the hangers, but the sentries should all be scrambled and sent to protect the most important targets like the engine room, so hopefully that will cause enough of a traffic jam,” Keith said, checking a corner before darting to the elevator.

 

“Jesus fuck this is elaborate,” Shiro said in awe.  

 

“Not really,” Keith said as he started tugging at a panel next to the elevator door.  “The sewage filtration system is outdated on most of the larger ships.  If they overheat--or even if they _think_ they’re going to overheat--it tries to reset its own codes.  Of course, a sewage system doesn’t have authorization to do that, so it keeps asking higher up the chain, and once it reaches high enough, that triggers a bunch of alarms because the entire system thinks it’s getting hacked.  Everything tries to reset itself and--fuck this is stuck,” Keith grunted, tugging harder.

 

“I’ve got it,” Shiro said.  Keith stepped aside and Shiro yanked open the panel.

 

“Thanks,” Keith said, fiddling with the newly exposed wires.  “Anyway, the ship is trying to reset itself from the top down while each of the sewage control centers keep telling it to reset _again_ and the whole thing topples.  Honestly, all anyone would need to do is flush every toilet at once to get these big cruisers to go offline.”  

 

“That is...less elaborate.  And a very stupid oversight.”  

 

“Like I said, outdated,” Keith grinned.  “Oh!  Got it.”

 

The elevator door opened--halfway--and they crowded in.  Keith selected the floor and the elevator began to move.  Keith sighed and slumped against the wall.  “Thank god that worked.  I don’t know if I could carry you the whole way.”

 

“I can walk,” Shiro insisted.  

 

“Your wounds are opening again.  I can smell you bleeding,” Keith said.  

 

“I can still walk,” Shiro said, crossing his arms.

 

Keith shrugged.  “And I’d still carry you, but that’s good to know.”

 

Shiro was both warmed by the generosity and suspicious of the amount of effort Keith was willing to put into saving him.  It’s one thing to bring your friend and ally with you--it’s another to carry them.  Better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“I just can’t believe the most powerful empire in the universe can be undone by flushing too many toilets,” Shiro said, shaking his head.  

 

Keith shrugged again.  “The Galra put their resources into expansion, and war is expensive.  The weapons are state of the art, not the toilets.  And anyway, I’m pretty sure my, um, _associates_ had something to do with a few design flaws back in the day.  I bet they were hoping to do something more glamorous with it, though.  Not that you’re not important,” Keith added quickly.

 

“ _I’m_ important?” Shiro said skeptically.  Champion or not, he was damned sure he was not worth this.

 

“Right, right.  Earth’s important,” Keith said, laughing a little.  He looked at Shiro and grinned.  “Don’t feel bad, though--I’m _definitely_ not important.”

 

“But Earth is?” Shiro said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I _will_ explain later, but this is our stop,” Keith said.  

 

The doors had never fully closed and now they refused to open altogether.  Keith peered down the dark hallway, assessing it, before nodding permission for Shiro to force the doors open enough for them to pass through--or rather, for Keith to slip through like water and Shiro to squeeze through like old toothpaste.  Not his most graceful moment, and it didn’t help that Keith was now looking at him with huge, worried eyes. 

 

“Did you rip any bandages?” he asked, clearly concerned by Shiro’s grunting and grimacing as he tried to reangle his shoulders.

 

(Damn his pecs.)

 

“No, but I left my dignity in there.  Let’s go,” he said.

 

The next three hallways were empty and Shiro wondered if that was a good or bad sign.  Either way, Keith was growing increasingly cautious.  Further down and around a corner, a light turned on.  Keith stopped.

 

“Turn off your arm.  Someone’s up there--I’ll go check.”

 

Shiro turned off his arm reluctantly.  He didn’t like letting Keith take all of the danger, but the half-Galra was trained and confident and Shiro had _just_ said he trusted him.

 

Keith slunk away, utterly silent.  He crept to the corner and listened.  To Shiro’s relief, he crept back without attempting anything on his own.  

 

“Guards,” Keith whispered.  “Actual guards and not sentries--sounded like maybe four of them.  They were arguing about staying at the hanger, and I don’t think they’re going to leave it.  They didn’t want to go while the lights out here are still off.”

 

Well, shit.

 

“Okay, what’s the plan?  Are we attacking, waiting for the lights to come on…?” Shiro asked.  Keith had been confident so far and had been quick on his feet to adapt as needed.  Hopefully he had a plan for this as well.  If not, well, Shiro sure as fuck wasn't going to let a measly four guards stand between him and freedom.

 

“We could wait for more prisoners to arrive, let them take care of the guards,” Keith considered.  

 

“Arrive how?  I’m guessing the other elevators aren’t working,” Shiro pointed out.  

 

“Attacking, then.  Unless you think this is a ‘patience yields focus’ situation.”

 

“You’re a punk,” Shiro smiled, “but attacking sounds good.  They’ll be shooting blind at us anyway.  I’ll help you.”

 

“But you’re a massive target,” Keith worried.  “They’ll definitely hit you.”

 

“Keith, I am not _that_ much bigger than you.”

 

“Says the guy who got stuck in the door,” Keith snickered.

 

Shiro couldn’t help chuckling at that.  “Okay, how about this: you shoot as many as you can and when they shoot back, duck around the corner.  If they charge, we can attack from both sides.  If they stay in the hanger, you can provide cover fire while I go in.  And before you ask, yes, I can manage that much running.”

 

“Sounds like a good plan.  I hate waiting anyway,” Keith said.

 

“I’m not surprised,” Shiro said, pressing back another chuckle.  They should probably be more careful about staying quiet.  Keith started to slink away again and Shiro grabbed his shoulder.  “Hey, uh, before we go out there--my name is Shiro.”  His name sounded foreign to his own ears.  How long had it been since he’d heard it?  A year? 

 

“Shi-ro,” Keith said, trying it out.  “Did I say it right?”

 

“Perfect,” Shiro smiled.  God, it was cleansing to be called by name.  He was leaving the Champion behind on this ship and that felt _good_.

 

They slipped into place and, after a final nod of agreement, Keith leapt out and fired six shots down the hall before ducking to the side, narrowly avoiding return fire.

 

“Two dead, one very injured, and two more alive,” Keith reported.

 

“So five total?”

 

“Five total,” Keith confirmed.

 

Shiro ignited his arm.  “Very manageable,” he grinned.  “Cover me.”

 

Shiro sprinted down the hall and into the hanger, shouting his best war cry and managing to block one blast with his new arm.  He shoved it through the chest of the first guard while Keith took down the second.  Shiro put the the third out of its misery.  The fight was over.

 

“That was easy,” Keith said, walking up behind Shiro and then shooting the first guard point blank.

 

“I’m pretty sure they were dead,” Shiro said raising an eyebrow.

 

“Dead, yes.  Dead and singed to hell from your arm.  My blast will hopefully cover that up--no need to let anyone know the Champion left from this particular hanger,” Keith explained, now shooting the third guard.  “What?  What’s that look mean?”

 

“Nothing,” Shiro said, shaking his head.  “Whoever trained you did a good job.”

 

Keith ducked his head.  “Pretty sure my commander would disagree with you, considering I wound up here.  Thanks, though.”

 

“Right then.  Last ship on the left?” Shiro said, striding toward the ship in question.  His body was still blissfully singing with adrenaline, but it was starting to warn him of an impending crash.  He realized suddenly that Keith wasn't following him.  “You coming?” he asked, turning around.

 

Keith was staring at a nearby control panel.  It was blackened and had a faint wisp of smoke rising from it.  

 

“That’s the panel that controls the bay doors,” he said, face blank.  “We can’t get out.”

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Dead at the finish line.  Fucking lovely.  Keith touched the still-warm panel, watching as a few sparks burst and winked out.  He had to admire the guard who had shot the panel instead of him--professionalism over self-preservation.  That took principle. 

 

Or maybe the guy was just a bad shot.

 

“Can you jump it somehow?” Shiro asked.  “You did great with that elevator.”

 

Keith shook his head.  “You just have to tell an elevator to go up or down.  The bay doors need to communicate with the gravity stabilizers and the life support systems and the command center.  I’d be more likely to announce to the bridge that we’re here than open the doors.”

 

“What about your associate--you’ve got someone on the ship you met with yesterday, right?”  Shiro asked.  “Can you contact them?”

 

Keith’s heart sank.  “Not without risking their cover,” he said.  He wasn't sure Ulaz could do much anyway. 

 

“Would they want you to contact them anyway?”

 

Keith’s head whipped around to glare at the Champion, but the man’s expression was gentle.  He was honestly asking, not demanding Keith risk his comrade’s life.  Keith’s shoulders sagged and he dropped his head.

 

“Probably,” he admitted, “but we’re not out of options yet.  Let’s get the supplies off the ship.  We can always try another hanger.”  

 

If there was one thing Keith got criticized for more than his impatience, it was for his tendency to value his comrades over his mission.  If they left supplies, that would absolutely be putting Ulaz at risk as it would show that the entire prison break was orchestrated and not the result of sloppy engineering.  Right now, his priority was in getting Shiro to safety, not in covering Ulaz’s tracks, but they needed the supplies anyway, didn’t they?  There would be coordinates and a tracker, probably.  Just leaving the ship wouldn’t help them much without somewhere to _go_ , after all.  For all Keith knew, the Galra cruiser a hundred light years away from the nearest _star_ , let alone a habitable planet.  So: supplies first, plan second.

 

Keith was so absorbed in his thoughts of Ulaz that it wasn't until they reached the ship that he noticed it--Shiro was limping.  Badly. 

 

“Are the bandages not helping or do we just need to change them?” Keith frowned.  

 

“Am I that obvious?” Shiro chuckled breathlessly.  He leaned against the side of the fighter and closed his eyes.  “I think the bigger problem is I haven’t eaten.”

 

Shit shit!  Of course that was the problem!  Most of the healing the prisoners got was because of the ultra-rich nutrients in their meals!  Prisoners were fed shortly after battles, but everytime the Champion got called to see his fan, he missed out.  Not only that, but Shiro had been gone long enough to miss the morning meal as well.  He would have been uncomfortably hungry and weak even if he hadn’t been injured, and the amount of time he’d spent with Sendak...it meant disturbing things.  That Shiro was still standing at all was testament to the human’s will power. 

 

Keith scrambled into the fighter and immediately saw two packs stuffed with supplies.  He dug into the first and was relieved to find emergency rations.  The Champ--Shiro--had followed him into the small ship and Keith all but force fed him the rations.

 

“Thanks, but I can still feed myself,” Shiro said with a tired smile.  He had sunk to the floor and was munching on a bar.  Keith knew from experience that it was disgusting, but the human looked content.  That was one problem (temporarily) solved.

 

Keith settled back on his haunches as he finished looking through the rest of the packs.  He found his instructions and read through them, a grin slowly stretching across his face.  It was a dangerous plan--stupid even.  He loved it. 

 

“Doesn’t matter that the doors are closed,” he said.  Shiro looked surprised.

 

“What--are we going to ram our way out?”

 

“Nope.  We’re going to make the autopilot do the work for us,” Keith replied, still grinning.  That wasn't even the fun part.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“We tell the autopilot where to take us and the bay doors will open automatically,” Keith explained, hopping into the pilot’s seat and entering coordinates.  

 

“Even with the systems constantly resetting?” Shiro said, grunting as he stood back up.

 

“The doors won’t open unless the system is working--locally at least--and the lights are on here.  We should be good to go.  If not, we’ll just wait until the reset completes itself.   Annnd looks like we’ll be waiting,” Keith said with a sigh.

 

“How long will take that?” Shiro said, standing behind Keith and looking at the ship controls curiously.  

 

“No idea,” Keith admitted.  “You can sleep if you want, or I can work on changing your bandages.”

 

“Actually, what I’d really like are some answers,” Shiro said meaningfully.

 

His voice was commanding enough that Keith’s ears drooped with guilty submission.  “Sure,” he squeaked.  “What do you want to know?”

 

“Who the hell you are and what the hell is going on, for starters.  Why Earth is important would also be nice,” Shiro said mildly. 

 

“My name is Keith and I work for a secret organization that is trying to bring down the Galra Empire from within, and I--”

 

“From within?” Shiro said skeptically.  “Does that mean there are Galra that don’t like...this?” He waved his hand vaguely.  

 

Keith hesitated.  “Most Galra are proud of what the Empire has accomplished.  We value strength and our warriors.  But, there’s strength and then there’s cruelty.  What’s happening now--what has been happening since Zarkon became the Emperor and started conquering other planets--is completely without honor.  Galra are supposed to protect their own, not take from others.  That’s what we used to be like anyway.”  He was quiet for a moment.  “That was a long time ago.”

 

Shiro considered this before nodding.  “And how does Earth fit into any of that?”

 

“There’s a weapon hidden on Earth that could stop Zarkon.  I’m to take you back to Earth so that you can warn humans and so that I can, well, I guess protect the weapon?  I’ll get more instructions later, but I know the plan is to move the weapon.”

 

“Move...not use?”

 

“I honestly don’t know more than that,” Keith said.  

 

“And is that why your mother was on Earth?”

 

“I don’t know that either.  I’m not...high-ranking.  Breaking you out of prison wasn't even a plan until after I got captured like an idiot,” Keith admitted sheepishly.  “And I didn’t know any of this until yesterday.  I...I mean, I don’t think I could have told you sooner, but I would have _wanted_ to,” Keith said earnestly.  Shiro’s face was blank and Keith feared the worst.  He wouldn’t blame Shiro if he didn’t believe him or if he never trusted Keith again.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

 

“I get it,” Shiro said.  “You couldn’t have told me sooner without risking your operatives, and it’s not like you owed me that information anyway.”

 

“Well, yes, but I know you thought you could trust me and then I dropped a secret organization on you, so...sorry,” Keith mumbled.

 

“I still trust you,” Shiro said.  

 

Fuck.

 

“Thank you,” Keith said, swallowing.  What else do you say to that?

 

Shiro sighed and ruffled Keith’s hair.  “You really don’t need to feel bad about this.  Come on--you never even told me your _name_.  Why would you have told me anything else?  It’s fine.”

 

Keith nodded and felt a little better (and slightly annoyed that Shiro was treating him like a kid.  Ruffling his hair?  Seriously?).

 

“Right.  Well, I’m going to sleep now.  Wake me up when something happens,” Shiro said, lying down on the floor with a grunt.  

 

The fighter was small enough that Shiro barely had room to stretch out, but it didn’t seem to bother him.  He must be exhausted.  Keith wished he had blankets to give him, but the best he could offer was a space suit.  Shiro was too tired to bother with putting one on, so Keith draped it over him.  After a moment’s consideration, Keith donned his own suit.  He might as well get ready now, and it was nice to wear something other than prison garb (even if he was still technically wearing it under the suit).  God, he could not wait for a real shower. 

 

“We could always try flushing more toilets,” Shiro mumbled from the floor.

 

It took Keith half a tick to understand what the human meant.  He burst out laughing. 

 

“Seriously, just go the fuck to sleep.”

 

“M’kay,” Shiro said with a sleep-filled sigh.  “G’night.”

 

Keith smiled.  He really liked the human’s sense of humor.  As much as Keith was itching to leave the cruiser, he was grateful for a short break to let Shiro rest.  He’d more than earned it. 

 

Keith undid his braid, combed out his hair with his fingers, and began to braid it again as he reviewed the information that Ulaz had left for him.  It was so like Ulaz to have a backup plan for if the bay doors failed to open.  Keith never should have doubted him, and he shuddered to think how close he’d come to having them bolt for the next hanger over.  He really needed to get a grip on his impulsive behavior, especially since it wasn't just his own life he’d be risking. 

 

Keith glanced down at Shiro.  His face looked even wearier in sleep and Keith wondered just how much the man stoically withheld.  He’d seen the scars now.  He knew what they were from.  Keith shivered and hugged his knees to his chest.  He’d seen the marks of torture before and this was worse: Sendak had been _playing_.  And Shiro had been there all night…  Was it because of Keith?  Shiro had said Sendak didn’t like it when Keith touched him.  

 

Nausea rolled over him.  He’d been so excited about their potential escape that he hadn’t really considered what the Champion’s long absence had _meant_.  Just how much did he owe this man?  Keith clenched his fists.

 

“I am going to save you,” he whispered.  “I promise.”

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

“Shiro?  Shiro, the lights are on.”

 

Keith’s voice was annoying, and Shiro probably showed it as he grunted awake.

 

“The lights have been on,” Shiro grumbled.  Every joint was stiff, every muscle ached.  Lovely.

 

“They went off maybe a varga ago.  They just came back on, so either the system is resetting again or someone is coming,” Keith explained.  

 

Shiro peered up at the half-Galra through bleary slits.  What the hell was a varga?  He’d heard it a hundred times and never cared to ask.  It probably meant five minutes, considering how tired he still was.  It felt like he hadn’t sleep at _all_.  

 

“Alright then,” Shiro said, shoving himself upright.  “What’s next?”

 

“Put on your flight suit,” Keith said excitedly.  “The doors are opening!”

 

Shiro scrambled up as fast as his protesting body would allow.  Stars.  A sea of stars was opening before them.  How long had it been since he’d seen them, since he’d seen anything other than the inside of a ship?

 

Keith glanced over his shoulder.  “Do you need help getting it on?”

 

“Just looking at the stars,” Shiro said quietly.  He shook out the suit and began to tug it over his prison clothes.

 

“Oh.”  

 

Keith was quiet for long enough that Shiro wondered if he felt bad about something.  He hadn’t meant anything by his comment.

 

“How long have you been in here?” Keith asked.  

 

The engines hummed to life and the ship hovered.  

 

 _Freedom_ , thought Shiro nonsensically, as if the mere act of the fighter no longer touching the cruiser was the final barrier he needed to cross.  It was illogical and dizzy and wonderful and he shoved it aside for later.  There was a whirlwind of hysteria starting to cycle in his core and he was _not_ going to trip at the finish line.

 

“No idea,” he said as he zipped up the suit.  “Wait--why are the other fighters on?”

 

Keith pulled up several screens and shifted through them rapidly.  “These aren’t the coordinates I entered,” he said. 

 

Panic clenched in his gut and Shiro tamped it down immediately.  Their fighter was out of the hanger now and that was the main thing.  

 

“Oh.  Oh I see what’s going on,” Keith said, leaning forward in his chair and craning his neck to get a better view of the scene before them.  “Look at how many hangers are opening on our level--they’re releasing them to fight against the fleeing prisoners.  See?  The ones below us are scattering, but the ones near us are staying in formation.”

 

“They’re sending out the fighters unmanned?” Shiro asked.  The fighters were built to hold pilots.

 

“If they program in targets, they can use the fighters alone so long as they stay close to the cruiser,” Keith explained.  “We’re actually pretty safe right now--none of the unmanned ships will be after us since we’re from a ‘friendly’ squad.” 

 

“You mean, so long as the prisoners don’t fight back,” Shiro said tightly.  The fighters were in position now, and bursts of fire below them marked the unlucky prisoners whose escape had ended in death.  

 

“If it makes you feel any better, a lot of the prisoners are actual criminals and not just slaves,” Keith said, his mouth twisting as if the words were physically distasteful.

 

“And you?”

 

“I’ve stolen a lot from the Empire,” Keith said with a shrug.  “Helped blow up a lot of things, too.  I’d say I’m a freedom fighter, but I’m pretty sure they’d label me a terrorist.  Not they know of any that, I guess.  They just thought they’d caught your average thief.  What about you?  What were you doing when you got caught?”

 

“Collecting ice samples from our solar system’s furthest planet’s moon.”  

 

(Because Pluto would always be a planet in Shiro’s heart, goddamnit.)

 

“Holy fuck the Champion is a fucking _nerd_ ,” Keith gasped, laughing hard enough that Shiro had serious concerns about his ability to fly.  Granted, they were on autopilot at the moment, but still.

 

“It’s not that funny,” Shiro grumbled, “and anyway, I was the pilot and mission officer, not the scientist.”

 

“Oh god that makes it worse,” Keith cried, tears streaming down his face.  “You were _supervising_ nerds.”

 

“You seem a little busy.  Need me to fly?” Shiro ground out through his teeth.

 

“No thanks, grandpa,” Keith said as he wiped his eyes.  “Tell you what, if we need a moon buggy ride at some point, you’ll be my go to guy.”

 

“You cocky son of a bitch.  I am literally the best pilot on Earth,” Shiro said.

 

“The best pilot, eh?  Now who’s the cocky one?” Keith grinned.  “Anyway, hold on to something, I’m taking us off autopilot.”

 

“Jesus fuck, you little shit!  Is this necessary?!” Shiro gasped as the fighter barreled to the left and nosedived.

 

“I thought you said you trust me?” Keith grinned.  “Just checking to see if our squadron will attack us if we leave formation and fuck, yes they will.   _Fuck_.”

 

Shiro barely managed to avoid tumbling onto the control panel as Keith curved hard and then dove again.  

 

“Looks like we’ll have to outrun them,” Keith said.  He sounded a lot happier about it than Shiro liked.

 

“How the hell do you plan to outrun ships with the exact same specs as the one you’re on?” Shiro spat out.  “Not to mention we’ve got more weight to account for--we’ve got two bodies and they’re unmanned!”

 

“Fair points,” Keith admitted, “but they’ve got a limited range, so we just need to out maneuver them until then.”

 

“ _How_ limited?” Shiro pressed.  “Because this is not going well.”

 

“Agreed,” Keith said as shots burst in front of them, prompting Keith to bank hard and spin up, “but it is pretty fun.”

 

“I hate you right now,” Shiro said.  “I seriously hate you.”

 

“Live a little,” Keith laughed.

 

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Shiro cried in exasperation.  

 

Keith continued to laugh and Shiro considered smacking him on the head.  Vengeance would have to wait, though, as it was all Shiro could do to hang on.  He was impressed with the kid’s skill, as much as he hated to admit it, but god it was a good thing the Garrison had rigorous training to help reduce motion induced nausea.  The brat had no idea how lucky he was to be flying in a vomit-free cockpit. 

 

Gulping down deep breaths to steady himself, Shiro racked his brain to think of something to get them out this other than Keith’s impressively insane flying.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it: a moon.

 

“Use that!” he cried jabbing his finger in the direction it had been before Keith did another barrel roll.  “The moon!”

 

“The moon?  Well, I guess that should give us some cover until we get out of range of them, but I’d rather not the waste the fuel to enter and leave an atmosphere,” Keith frowned.  

 

“You won’t have to--use the gravity to boost us.  You can slingshot us out of here.  I mean, _if_ you’re a good enough pilot to calculate it,” Shiro added with perhaps a touch too much sharpness.  

 

“Good for you, grandpa!  Looks like you know your stuff after all,” Keith laughed.  “Let’s do this.”

 

Keith veered to the side and raced to the moon.  He let out a merry war whoop as they surged closer and caught the pull, and it was then that Shiro recognized what Keith was behaving like: he was a horse kept in the stable too long, kicking up its heels as it galloped across a pasture.  He wasn't just a crazy pilot--he was a crazy pilot finally getting his fix after months or years without flying.  Shiro could relate.  If he hadn’t been fleeing for his life, he’d be itching to fly and probably whooping right along with him.

 

“And that’s that,” Keith laughed as they shot past the moon.  “So long, assholes!  I hope someone flushes a giant turd and you crash into each other like the pieces of shit you are!”

 

How poetic.  

 

Now emotionally exhausted as well as physically, Shiro sagged against the control panel.  “So, what’s the plan now?” 

 

“First, we need to crash in an asteroid field,” Keith said, leaning back in his chair and stretching.

 

“I’m sorry--what?”

 

Keith grinned.  “We need to crash in an asteroid field.  We’re probably going to be tracked, and if they find debris from this ship, they’ll assume we’re dead.  Hopefully.”

 

“Okay then,” Shiro sighed in resignation.  The theme of the day was insanity, apparently--why not add another helping?

 

“After that, we wait until my associates pick us up.  I’ve got a tracker coordinated with them.”

 

“And until then, we’ll just be what, floating in an asteroid field?”

 

“Exactly,” Keith nodded.  His grin faded as he began to make adjustments to various controls.  “Hey, um,” he said, failing to sound casual as he cleared his throat.  “You don’t actually hate me or anything, right?”

 

His knee had started to bounce and his ears were drooping.  Good god. 

 

“I will if you keep calling me ‘grandpa’,” Shiro replied mildly, flicking an ear that twitched in response.  

 

In all honesty he was grateful Keith had been the one at the helm--his flying truly had been impressive--but without another seat available to strap into, he’d been knocked around hard enough to aggravate his wounds more than he was willing to admit.  He hissed under his breath as he shifted his weight.

 

“How long until we get to the asteroid field?” he asked.

 

“I’d estimate 20 to 30 doboshes, give or take.”

 

“Uh huh.  And how long is that?”

 

Keith looked baffled.  “Well, there’s 60 doboshes in a varga.”

 

There was that word again.  And what the hell was a dobosh?  Clearly, this conversation wasn't going anywhere.  

 

“There’s 60 ticks in a dobosh,” Keith added helpfully.  

 

“How about this: is it long enough that I could nap?” Shiro tried.

 

Keith nodded.  “You could do a short nap,” he said.

 

That sounded like a perfect amount of time, and Shiro curled on the floor without another word.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Just how many times had he seen Shiro fall asleep Keith mused.  He could hardly blame the man--to his knowledge, he’d never been in the human’s presence when he wasn't recovering from injuries.  Still, he slept a _lot_.  Maybe it was a human trait?

 

Keith shifted in his chair and stretched out his back and arms again.  Flying felt amazing--and the best part was yet to come.  Navigating an asteroid and then crashing on purpose?  Way too fun.  What an amazing end to their escape!  Okay, maybe not the end of their escape just yet.  Or was it?  At what point could they consider themselves in the clear?  Still, Keith was feeling giddy with freedom and he stuffed back a giggle.  Best to keep quiet and let the human rest a little longer. 

 

Keith glanced down at Shiro.  He could smell blood even through the flight suit--not a good sign.  Plus, the human was grimacing in his sleep.  He hoped he wasn't running a fever and had to push down the urge to touch his forehead and check.  He had no idea what a normal human body temperature should be anyway, and more importantly--he’d probably get punched.  There would be first aid on their rescue ship, Keith reminded himself, so he could worry about Shiro’s health later.  Just a few more vargas and everything would be okay.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

“Rick,” Shiro gasped, sitting up, his vision swarming black with panic. He had no idea what he’d been saying in his sleep, but it had brought Keith to his side.

 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Keith said gently, kneeling next to him but not touching him.  “We made it, okay?  We’re in space now.  No more arena.  No more cruiser.”

 

Shiro’s vision cleared slowly and he blinked a few times.  “Keith..?” he asked hesitantly. 

 

“Yup,” Keith smiled.  “Rick is still fine, though.  I should get back in my chair,” he added, standing up.  “We’re about to enter the field.”

 

“ _Definitely_ get back in your chair,” Shiro said, smiling faintly.

 

Keith resettled himself and Shiro stood behind him.  

 

“Any chance you can get through here without acrobatics?” Shiro asked.  

 

“I’ll do my best,” Keith hummed lightly, and to Shiro’s immensely relief the half-Galra kept their ride smooth.  Despite the unpredictable movements of the large rocks, Keith handled the ship with ease and, if anything, it was more impressive flying than his earlier feats.  

 

Standing behind Keith’s chair as he navigated his way through the field, Shiro was hit with a brief flash memory.  For a sliver of a second, he was again an instructor, overseeing a cadet, and it brought something warm and painful to his chest that lingered even after the moment winked out.  

 

“You’re doing very well,” he said, his voice rasping.  

 

Keith tilted his head curiously but said nothing more than a quiet thank you.

 

“Aren’t we going to crash?” he asked after a few minutes.  They were nearing the end of the field.

 

“I’m taking us all the way through.  You’ll hop out and then I’ll turn the ship around.  I’ll eject before I crash,” Keith said.  He sounded entirely unconcerned, like he wasn't about to quite possibly leave Shiro stranded in the middle of space with nothing more than a thin suit.  Nothing against him and the vastness of nothing, rotating in silence until he died.  Nothing.  No bars, no fights.  Nothing but the worst kind of freedom. 

 

What the hell.  Why was he panicking _now_?  They were free, they were almost safe, he’d only be alone for a few seconds, this was fine.  He was fine.  This was fine. 

 

“Hey,” Keith said quietly.  His hand was on Shiro’s arm.  The gentle pressure soothed his trembling, and since when had he been _shaking_?

 

They were out of the field now, floating gently at an almost standstill.  Keith turned in his chair and took Shiro’s hand.

 

“I’m not going to leave you.  I’m going to set the ship on a course to crash and then I’ll eject and come right back to you.  You’ll be able to see me the whole time, okay?” Purple eyes searched his, waiting until he calmed and nodded.  “Shiro, I want you to know something.  Even if there wasn't a mission, I would not have left that ship without you.  I swear it.”  Shiro nodded again.  “And anyway,” Keith smiled, “you’ll be holding onto both bags of supplies, so I’ll have to come back.   You’ll have the tracker.”

 

Shiro smiled weakly.  “You bet your furry ass I’m taking both bags.”

 

“Hey, only my ears are furry,” Keith pouted.  “My ass is perfectly smooth.”

 

“Your ass is perfect?” Shiro said, managing a thin smirk.

 

“And he’s back,” Keith grinned.  

 

They both donned their helmets and double checked their suits, and Shiro shouldered the two packs.  He hesitated at the ship’s exit.

 

“I’ll be back for you in two ticks,” Keith promised.

 

“Literally?” Shiro asked, attempting to tease Keith and trying to finally get a better gauge of time.

 

“No, not literally,” Keith said, rolling his eyes.  “More like two doboshes.  Now scoot!”

 

Shiro floated free of the ship and rotated to watch as Keith turned the fighter back into the field.  It got closer and closer, picking up speed, and Keith hadn’t ejected yet.  But it was fine, there was still time.  He’d be out any second.  Any second now.  It was going to crash any second and _Keith was still in there_ and--

 

The fighter exploded in a wave of flame, shattering into three pieces and there--thank god--was Keith, floating in the middle and pumping his fist in victory.

 

“Did you see that ricochet?” he cried with glee over the com.  “I tried to clip the side to make multiple pieces.  That’ll show those assholes, having to hunt extra shit down.”  His jetpack flared and he started back to Shiro.

 

“You gave me a heart attack waiting that late to eject, you little bastard,” Shiro said, relief cutting through his biting tone.  

 

Keith just laughed and flared his jetpack brighter.  “Careful how you catch me--don’t want to hit your injuries or anything,” he said.

 

Shiro reached out and they clasped hands as Keith arrived.  Shiro pulled him closer, ostensibly to steady him, but mostly because they had escaped and they were floating alone in space and it was fucking exhilarating and terrifying.  Keith clipped a tether between the two of them and that was that.  They were free.  Nothing to do now but float and contemplate the void.

 

They were quiet for a while.  It was several minutes before Shiro realized he’d never let go of Keith’s hand--or perhaps Keith had never let go of his?--and he decided it would be too weird to drop it now.  Besides, they were isolated in the incomprehensible vastness of space.  It was safer to be connected by more than just a tether.  God.  That was it, right?  The lack of safety that was freaking him out?  Because a raging current of anxiety was churning just beneath his surface and in a thousand ways he’d never been further from danger. 

 

“Sorry I panicked earlier,” he said heavily.

 

“It’s fine,” Keith said.  He sounded like he meant it, too.  

 

“It was stupid, though.  I’ve been locked up for months, maybe years.  You’d think I’d be _happy_ to be free, not...whatever that was,” Shiro said.

 

“I don’t think it’s just about freedom, or at least it isn’t for me.  It’s about being safe, and space isn’t safe,” Keith said.  “The only reason I’m not freaking out is because I trust my friends to pick us up.  You don’t have that.”

 

“I trust you,” Shiro insisted.

 

“Exactly.  You trust _me_.  Doesn’t mean you trust them,” Keith shrugged.  

 

And that was fair.  If Keith’s friends were able to break him out this whole time--Shiro assumed the Toilet System Failure was in place long before Keith got there--why hadn’t they done so earlier?  Yes, it was safe to say Shiro didn’t trust Keith’s organization, or at least not yet.  Maybe once he met more of them.  Still, they had helped save him, and speaking of--

 

“Thanks for saving me,” he said sheepishly.  “Probably should have said that earlier.”

 

“I should be thanking you,” Keith said.  “You saved me first.  And I don’t just mean from the, um, the--”

 

“Would be rapists?” Shiro asked.  Even in the vacuum of space, he could feel Keith wince.

 

“Yeah,” Keith said uneasily.  “But, I mean, you kept saving me, everyday.  And I don’t know what all happened with Sendak, but--”

 

“It’s fine.  Don’t worry about it.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Oh.”

 

Another silence began between them, and Shiro struggled to break it.  He didn’t know how to explain himself, but he also didn’t want Keith to think he was angry at him.  The kid was apparently sensitive to that.  He sighed.

 

“What I mean is you don’t owe me anything.  I’m an adult and I can handle the consequences of my own choices.  There isn’t anything you need to burden yourself with,” Shiro said.  

 

“Gratitude isn’t a burden,” Keith said.  He sounded puzzled and sad and stubborn all at once.

 

Shiro smiled.  “Gratitude is fine.  Just don’t let turn it into guilt, okay?  I made choices and I don’t regret them, and even if I did, that would never be your fault.”

 

“Okay,” Keith said after a pause.  “Deal.”

 

He squeezed Shiro’s hand and Shiro squeezed back.

 

“Deal,” he agreed.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Keith had asked about Shiro’s wounds and the human had said that space was nice: no gravity meant no pressure on anything.  That eased Keith’s worry--a _little_ \--but he couldn’t help checking the tracker as frequently and discretely as he could. He was not as subtle as he’d hoped, though, and Shiro finally told him just to glue it to his eye if he was going to look at it “constantly”.

 

“I’m not looking at it _that_ much,” Keith insisted.  “I’m just bored.”

 

“I’d suggest you try to take a nap but I’d rather you keep watch for our ride, to be honest.  I’d like to take a nap myself. Of course, pretty much all I do is sleep these days.”

 

“I noticed!  Is that a human thing?”

 

“It’s more like a I’m-depressed-and-there’s-nothing-to-do-anyway thing,” Shiro said dryly.

 

“Oh.”

 

That was a dumb question.

 

“That, and everything hurts.  Constantly.”

 

“Oh.”

 

A _really_ dumb question.

 

Shiro laughed.  “Calm down, kid.  I’m just messing with you.  For all I know, humans do sleep a lot more than most creatures.  We sleep about one third of our lives--how does that match up?”

 

That turned out to be a complicated question, because what did Shiro consider “sleep” versus “rest” and what about hibernation or time spent pupating?  And that wasn't even accounting for the amount of rest required by infants versus adults!   They reached the conclusion that most bipedal species rested for about one fourth to one third of their adult lives.  Galra slept somewhere between one sixth and one fifth. 

 

“I always assumed I was lazy,” Keith said, shaking his head.  “Everyone thought I slept too much.”

 

“You’d be a very active human,” Shiro mused.  “And think of it this way: since you are probably the only human/Galra hybrid in existence, that makes everything you do the statistical norm.”

 

“You’re trying to make me feel better with statistics?  This is why you’re a nerd,” Keith snickered. 

 

“Sleep doesn’t determine your lethal value, either,” Shiro continued, ignoring the jibe.  “For instance: lions will sleep for more than 80% of their adult lifetime.”

 

What.  What the _what_?!

 

“Lions are real?” Keith exclaimed.  That was insane!  Lions were mythical creatures.  Earth was either a magical fantasy realm or Shiro was messing with him (in which Keith _would_ be calling him “grandpa” again).

 

“They are,” Shiro said happily.  “They’re my favorite of the big cats.  Did you know they hunt together in packs?  They’re the only cat that does that.  They actually work together in _teams_!  Isn’t that incredible?”

 

“Oh my god,” Keith said in horror.  “You’re an animal nerd, too.” 

 

Shiro punched him in the arm and it sent both of them spinning.

 

“Didn’t think that through, did you?” Keith laughed as they tumbled over one another, still secured by the tether.  

 

“Shut up and stop us,” Shiro said, laughing too.  

 

Thankfully, it didn’t take much work to even back out.

 

“So anyway: lions are real?” Keith said.  

 

“What’s so surprising about that?  Oh wait--maybe we’re thinking of different creatures and just using the same word?” Shiro wondered.

 

“No no, you said they were big cats.  That’s a lion.  I thought they were a myth to make the story of Voltron sound more intimidating or something,” Keith said.  “Oh right--you probably don’t know that story since you’re from a primitive planet.”

 

Shiro made a squawk of protest at the mild insult which Keith ignored.

 

“Five mechanical lions would come together and form a giant robot called Voltron.  The pilots of the lions were called Paladins and they were peacekeepers,” Keith continued.  “It’s a kid’s story, but I really liked it growing up.  I don’t think any of the Paladins ever went to Earth in the stories, though.  Maybe there used to be lions somewhere else?”

 

“Well, if you want, when we get to Earth I’ll show you some lions and you can tell me if they’re same type of thing,” Shiro offered.

 

“That sounds great,” Keith said eagerly, unable to contain his enthusiasm.  His heart was brimming with hope.  Making plans together about going to Earth to look at lions was an honest-to-god _option_ now.

 

Keith wanted to ask Shiro more lion facts--were they actually bigger than a Class 91 Fighter? Because that was amazing--when his tracker beeped: their ride had arrived.  He swiveled his head before finally spotting the small ship, essentially beneath them.

 

“Why is it stopping?” Shiro asked.

 

The thrusters had briefly reversed, causing the ship to stop in place.  Keith’s ears flicked in annoyance.

 

“We aren’t quite at our right spot anymore,” he scowled.  Of course the Blades would arrive at precisely the indicated location and god forbid he not be at *exactly* the right spot.  People float in space.  It happens. 

 

“Are they not coming to get us?” Shiro asked, clearly unimpressed.  

 

Keith hailed the ship.  Silence.

 

Worry prickled on the back of his neck.  The Blades were precise and unforgiving of sloppiness, but they weren’t petty.  They wouldn’t be silent without reason.  Maybe he didn’t have the right frequency to hail them?  Hell, the ship was an absolute junker.  It might not have a functioning com system at all. 

 

“Well, let’s get over there,” Keith sighed, starting his jetpack.  

 

Keith’s uneasiness grew as they got closer.  Why weren’t there any interior lights on?  He tried hailing again.  No response. 

 

“Keith…?” Shiro asked.

 

Keith flared his jetpack and raced the final distance to the ship, Shiro tugged sharply behind him.  He caught himself against the window and looked in.

 

The ship was empty.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haaaaate writing action scenes. Hip hip hoorah for being done with the arena and the escape!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Do y’all like my updated version of the “heroes-always-escape-through-the-sewers” trope? XD Behold the domino effect of bureaucrats deciding to put all the budget into war funds instead of quality of life measures. BOOM. Political toilet discourse!
> 
>  
> 
> Some potentially bad science: using gravity to boost you. NASA *does* do that to save fuel (piggybacking off moons/planets) but I dunno about how much speed that would add. It works here because reasons. Because reasons and scifi magic. *firm nod*
> 
>  
> 
> Side note: Jupiter’s gravity literally flicks asteroids out of our solar system. 
> 
>  
> 
> Shiro’s lion facts are misleading, btw. Adult male lions sleep up to 20 hours a day, but adult female lions sleep as little as 15 hours ‘cause the ladies do the hunting. Shiro and his #sexistlionfacts smh. (But seriously you KNOW he loves that lions work together as teeeeams.)
> 
>  
> 
> There will be no mpreg in this fic (probably--please never hold me accountable for anything I say, ever). I posted about it in twitter and tumblr and after reading the feedback and chatting with a few writer friends, I decided against it. Couple of reasons: 1) Some people are extremely uncomfortable with mpreg and I’d feel bad if they got invested in this fic and suddenly had mpreg thrust upon them without warning 2) I had several potential ideas for mpreg but they would have included topics of miscarriage, abortion, pregnancy by rape, and forced body modification and those are easily big enough issues for stand alone fics 3) The focus of this story is What Happened to Shiro During the Arena (and his recovery with a cute Keef to help) / Keith’s Insecurities If He Was Raised Galra Instead of Human (and his growth with a cute Shiwo to help). Adding mpreg would distract from current focus on Wounded!Shiro’s recovery and Galra!Keith’s insecurities, so yeah. Focusing on the focus. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, I’m worried people voted thinking it would be preggers Sheith not preggers Shendak….and I didn’t want them to say “Yes please omg the FLUFF!” and then….have….That. But I did have a preggers Sheith idea, too, lol. But Shendak was a possibility as well. So. Focusing on specific angst. The end.)
> 
>  
> 
> Does anyone else remember watching a documentary thing on NASA featuring LeVar Burton? I swear to god I watched that as a kid and he showed a spinny machine they used to help astronauts either get used to dealing nausea. Anyway, that’s what I base all my science on: half-remembered TV episodes from my childhood. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Hands up--who watched Reading Rainbow as a kid? Was it not the Best Thing Ever?!!?)
> 
>  
> 
> And a big fat welcome to another episode of Saasan’s Bullshit Cliffhangers! Mostly I just wanted to post something before Season 8 claims my soul. I am. So. Not in denial. This isn’t the last season. Nope nope nope. 
> 
>  
> 
> Nope.
> 
>  
> 
> So yeah. I'll be live tweeting Season 8 (I'm at @decidedlysarah) and my tumblr will be spoiler-y (but tagged with S8VLD spoilers), so fair warning.
> 
>  
> 
> ...I am not prepared.
> 
>  
> 
> See you on the other side!!!


	3. The Journey (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author finally updates, Shiro finally cries, and there is Only One Bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck DreamWorks.

The half-Galra cursed loudly and creatively and Shiro tried to cover his ears, momentarily forgetting the gesture was useless as he was wearing a helmet.

 

“What?  What’s going on?” he asked.

 

“No one’s in there,” Keith growled, pounding the window with his fist.

 

“Is that a problem?” Shiro asked.  Surely they wouldn’t have sent an unmanned ship unless Keith could pilot it himself.

 

Keith whirled around to glare at him, but his expression quickly turned from anger to a broken resignation.

 

“It’s fine,” he muttered.  “Come on, let’s get the hatch open.”

 

They made their way to the back of the ship and found the hatch.  This was clearly an older ship as the hatch was manual and the lever required an alarming amount of effort to twist.  

 

“Are you sure we’re not about to break this thing?” Shiro gasped.  The two of them were both grasping the handle and bracing backwards, pulling as hard as they could.  

 

“I don’t know if we _can_ break it,” Keith grunted.  He unclipped his end of the tether from his belt.  “Get back a tick; I’m going to try something.”

 

Keith realigned himself, grabbed the lever again, and fired his jetpack.  The metal door groaned in protest and then flung open, slamming Keith face first into the side of the ship.  It was like something out of The Three Stooges and Shiro would have laughed if he hadn’t been worried that Keith had cracked his helmet open.  More loud and creative cursing filled the com, letting Shiro know the half-Galra was more or less alright.

 

“The door’s open,” Keith announced.

 

Shiro snickered.  “Thank you very much, sir.”  

 

He took a step into the ship and promptly smacked into the second set of doors before very nearly landing on his ass.  

 

“Woah there,” Keith said, arms awkwardly holding Shiro up with one hand behind his knee and the other somehow snaking up from under his armpit to grab under his chin.  “I take it you didn’t expect the gravity.”

 

“No I did not,” Shiro gasped, vainly attempting to get his feet under himself in the small space of the entryway.  Breaching the ship and entering gravity had caused his feet to be sucked to the floor like magnets. It was like missing the last step on the stairs times a hundred.

 

Keith somehow managed to push Shiro mostly upright before shutting the hatch behind them and then, after a series of clicks and hissing, the interior door opened.  

 

“Well, the ship might be a piece of shit, but it’s got air and gravity,” Keith said as he took off his helmet and shook his braid free.

 

“I could do without the gravity, but the air is nice,” Shiro grunted as he finally got himself fully straightened out.  He looked around.

 

It _was_ a piece of shit kind of ship.  It was about the dimensions of two school buses placed side by side and a worrying number of the panels appeared rusted.  

 

“Can this thing even enter an atmosphere?” he asked in quiet disbelief.  

 

Perhaps the rust could be blamed on poor circulation coupled with the open showerhead and drain stuffed in a corner, but that raised more questions about the interior of the duct and air system.  God help them: there was probably space mold.

 

“I hope so,” Keith said, cringing as he opened a door next to the shower.  It would have made for a decent cupboard. It was, unfortunately, their toilet.

 

“I take it this ship wasn't designed for Galra,” Shiro commented, joining Keith at the toilet/closet.  Shiro would probably benefit from practicing a contortionist routine, but at least they had that tiny modicum of privacy.  When was the last time he’d been able to pee without 30 people watching?

 

“Well, no one is going to try to steal this, that’s for sure,” Keith said halfheartedly.  

 

They poked around the rest of ship and discovered that it housed a decent store of supplies as well as some coded instructions for Keith.  While the half-Galra started reading through them, Shiro continued his exploration and found the next delightful surprise: no beds. Instead, there was a mat to spread out and a few blankets.  The mat could probably accommodate both of them if they gave up elbow room, but Shiro had a feeling Keith would insist on curling in up in the pilot’s chair and he preemptively decided not to fight him on it.  He was exhausted.

 

“Well, not to immediately go to sleep again, but I’m going to sleep again,” Shiro said wearily.

 

“We need to change your bandages first,” Keith said, setting down his instructions and starting for their packs.  

 

“No thank you.  Good night,” Shiro said lightly, arranging the mat and spreading out the blankets.

 

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith said sharply, kneeling across from him and grabbing his shoulders.  “We need to change your bandages. You’re bleeding again.”

 

Shiro sighed.  “Keith, I’m always bleeding.  Not literally,” he said as Keith’s face practically melted with concerned horror, “but actually yeah, pretty much literally.  And I fell in blood earlier during the first part of our escape, remember?”

 

“I can smell two kinds of blood, and one kind is definitely human,” Keith said stubbornly.  His determined gaze didn’t waver and Shiro sighed again.

 

“Fine.  I should probably change anyway so I don’t bleed on the bedding.”

 

With Keith’s help, Shiro peeled off first the space suit and then the prisoner garb.  It was sticky with blood and difficult to remove and he hissed in pain as his back was exposed.  Evidently he’d bled through the bandages.

 

“Sorry,” Keith murmured as he began to work on the bandages themselves.  

 

Shiro bit his lip hard.  Keith already felt bad enough--almost annoyingly so--and didn’t need to hear Shiro cry out.  By the time Keith had reached the lower bandages, Shiro’s hands were fisted into the blankets to keep from shaking.

 

God, he hated this.  He hated hated _hated_ being seen and he hated that Keith wouldn’t just let him go to sleep which was the only thing in the fucking world he wanted to do and he hated that the kindness from yesterday had been a mask for the convenience of not having to carry him.  

 

“Maybe you should shower before we put the bandages back on,” Keith said doubtfully.  

 

Shiro cast a dark eye at the shower and drain but nodded.  Hopefully the water would be warm.

 

(It wasn't.)

 

“Do you want me to help?” Keith asked.

 

“No,” Shiro said sharply.  Even without turning around, he knew the kid’s ears were drooping.  Well, so what? It’s not like there was any kind of soap or shampoo or even a washcloth.  All that would happen would be Keith touching him more when it wasn't necessary, and Shiro was _not_ going to feel bad about declining that.

 

Shiro managed to get moderately cleaner under the cold spray and when he turned off the water, he heard Keith approach him.

 

“I can pat you dry and put new bandages on, or I can leave you alone,” Keith said quietly.

 

“There’s no towels,” Shiro shrugged, ringing out his hair.  It was heavier than he’d expected while it was wet--he’d never had a chance to clean it when it was long like this as showers at the arena were considered a medical privilege.  Galra apparently didn’t care if they stank. “I’ll put bandages on when I wake up.”

 

“Shiro, you really need to put new bandages on now,” Keith said carefully.

 

(Keeping his distance this time, wasn't he?  No more of that insistent attitude from yesterday.)

 

“Keith, I’m sure it’s fine.  I’ve barely had any treatment the entire time I’ve been in space,” Shiro said, trying very hard not to let his irritation show.  He was still facing the wall and hoped the kid would get the picture that he wanted Keith to look away so he could go lie down.

 

“But the food is what heals you!” Keith cried.  “And the rations we have aren’t nearly as potent, and the bandages had pain medicine and numbed you, so...you don’t know how bad it got.”

 

Clenching his jaw, Shiro turned around.  “Is it worse than this?” he said, gesturing to his chest.

 

Keith gasped, eyes wide and horrified as he stared at the deep claw marks that raked across his stomach and abdomen.  

 

“Why didn’t you let me bandage this before?” he whispered, reaching out to touch but then, remembering, snatching back his hand.

 

“Because I _didn't want you to see it._ ”

 

The sentence hung in the air, heavy and loud between them.

 

Keith worked his mouth as if to say something and then stared down at this feet.  “I’m sorry,” he said at last.

 

God _damn_ it.  This kid was so fucking fragile.

 

_I would have carried you anyway.  I would not have left without you._

 

No, not fragile.  

 

“And it is worse than that...in one spot on your back, and...lower,” Keith added, still looking at his feet.

 

(God damn it.)

 

“Alright, well, damage is done, I guess,” Shiro sighed.  “You’ve seen me, so I might as well get the bandages. I’ll do the front if you’ll do the back, but no pestering me about eating more or drinking or whatever.  You patch me up and then I get to sleep. Deal?”

 

Keith still didn’t look up but he nodded and padded off to collect the bandages.  They worked in silence and, finally, Shiro was allowed to sleep.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

The human had been asleep for five vargas now and Keith hoped he would sleep for another five more.  

 

He’d been so stupid.

 

Of course the human didn’t want him to see his injuries!  Who would want to show a near stranger their weakened state?  And some of them were private injuries, too--the kind that only trusted family would help you with. God, did he even know the first thing about human culture?  Who knows how badly he’d insulted the man! Not to mention Keith’s arrogance, assuming he knew more about Shiro’s body than Shiro did! Hadn’t the human said from the beginning how much he could handle--that he could still run when he needed to, that he could still fight?  If the man said he was fine and wanted to sleep, then it wasn't for Keith to demand otherwise.

 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Keith hunkered down a little more in the pilot’s chair and fiddled with the tablet that contained his instructions, if they could even be called that.  He’d been given a few drop points for supplies and the name of a shop a few systems over that would be friendly to trading. Not only were the Blades not giving him backup, they were leaving him to his own devices to get himself and Shiro to Earth--a trip that would take them past multiple galaxies.  Keith tried and failed not to feel abandoned.

 

Shiro stirred on the mattress and Keith kept his eyes trained out the window.  The human hadn’t put clothes on before falling asleep, and this time Keith would make it obvious that he respected the man’s wish for privacy.  

 

There was a grumbling groan and then Keith heard feet on metal as the human walked to the toilet.  There was more grumbling as the man worked to open the tiny room and fit inside. Finished shortly there after, the human emerged and padded back to the mattress.

 

“Thank you,” Shiro said awkwardly.

 

He must have found the clothes Keith had left out for him.

 

There was some shuffling and grunting followed by a heavy sigh and the sound of a body dropping onto the mattress.

 

“Hey, would you mind bringing me some food?” Shiro asked.

 

Keith rose from the chair and meekly brought over a few food packets and some water.  The human had a strained smile as he accepted them and after a pause, he patted the spot next to him.  Keith sat down cautiously.

 

“You don’t need to be _that_ careful around me,” Shiro said as he ripped open a packet and examined its contents.  His cheeks were pink. “I, um, lost my temper. I’m sorry. You were trying to help and I was...tired.”  He shook some nuts into his open palm and tried one.

 

“It’s okay.  I was being pushy and I was tired, too,” Keith said immediately.  He was relieved Shiro wasn't actually angry. They were going to be in very close quarters for the foreseeable future, and it would have been uncomfortable not to get along (to say the least).

 

Shiro nodded and offered Keith the nut packet.  They ate in silence for a while, trading the food packets and water.

 

“So,” Shiro said, clearing his throat, “what’s the deal behind the ship being empty?  You seemed really upset about it.”

 

Keith hid a frown behind a long gulp of water.  

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, recapping the water.  “I was just surprised.”

 

“It seemed like a big deal,” Shiro said, his voice neutral.

 

Keith huffed out a breath and rubbed at his neck.  “It’s _not_ a big deal.  It’s a bunch of little things that don’t matter.”  He probably sounded irritated.

 

“Did you want to talk about it?”

 

Keith turned and gave Shiro a critical eye.  If he had to bet, he’d say that the human was a counselor or teacher at some point.  He definitely gave off the feeling of being used to dealing with unruly teenagers. Keith resented the patronization, but he also had no reason to hold back the truth.

 

“I’m the youngest member of our organization.  My last mission was my first time being on my own and, well, you know how that turned out.  If the Earth weapon is as big a deal as my operative was making it out to be, then I should have a partner for this.  I’d like to say that no one being here means they trust me to handle this alone, but it feels more like they sent me on a babysitting mission,” Keith sighed.  “I don’t know. It’s just….it feels wrong, I guess.”

 

“Keith, they definitely trust you,” Shiro said.  “You guided me to safety from one of the most heavily guarded places in the universe.  That’s a big deal. They had another operative on the ship besides you--if they thought you needed the backup, you’d have it.”  He said it with such certainty that Keith looked over at him in surprise.

 

“Thank you,” he said, because he wasn't sure what else to say.  

 

Shiro’s smile was full and genuine now.  “I mean it, Keith. You were incredible.”

 

To Keith’s mortification, he blushed.  The Blades never gave out this kind of praise.  Not that he needed it--but it felt nice all the same.  

 

“So, what else?” Shiro prompted gently.  “You said it was several things, and it’s okay if they’re stupid.”

 

“Well, for one thing, since I’m the youngest member I have the least amount of training in first aid, and I thought we were about to get you some real help.”

 

“That’s not stupid,” Shiro said with a half laugh, “or at least it isn’t for me.  But really, you’ve already given me more aid than I ever got at the arena. I’m not worried about myself, even without the food.  Although,” he said with a wry smile, “I’m probably going to be sleeping a lot for a while.”

 

Keith smiled back.  Maybe it was because Shiro had been a teacher or whatever, but he really was easy to talk to.  He’d probably been good at his job.

 

“The last one is stupid, though,” Keith said sheepishly.  “I was looking forward to seeing, well, anyone really.”

 

Shiro’s face turned tender.  “What’s stupid about that?”

 

Keith’s blush returned in full force.  He’d expected _teasing_ , not whatever this was, and he glanced away.  “It’s a mission, not a family reunion or whatever.”

 

“Anyone who thought they were going to see a friend after so long in such a miserable place would be disappointed, no matter the circumstances.  It’s a normal reaction,” Shiro said, still gentle.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Keith said, trying to distract himself with finishing off the contents of a food packet.  He’d been prepared for camaraderie or something. This weird acceptance and encouragement made him feel both more vulnerable and safe at the same time.  He wanted to turn it around and ask Shiro who he missed, but that was surely too far.

 

Shiro seemed to understand the conversation was over, and he stretched.  “Did you want to take the bed for a while?”

 

“What?  No, you can sleep more,” Keith said in alarm.  And shit, he’d just told himself that he should trust the human to tell him what he needed in terms of healing.  

 

“I will sleep literally all day if you let me.  Take some mattress time while I’m offering it,” Shiro said with a tired smile.  

 

“I don’t mind the floor,” Keith insisted.  “I’ve slept on the floor plenty of times for missions.”

 

Shiro considered this.  “Is it that you don’t want to sleep near me or are you worried about your safety being near me while I’m asleep?”

 

“I...thought you didn’t want me near you,” Keith faltered.

 

“It’s not that--and sorry again for snapping at you earlier--what I don’t want is to be…,” Shiro’s voice trailed off and he went silent.  Keith saw him tremble slightly before recovering himself. “It’s fine if you’re near me. I am worried I might hurt you in my sleep if you roll over onto me or something like that.  Do you move in your sleep?”

 

Keith shook his head.  “Not usually at least.”

 

“Well, I can’t guarantee I won’t punch you, but we could try it.”

 

Keith grinned.  “That’s very encouraging.  How about if I sleep on the ‘outside’ edge so you’re not worried about getting attacked in your sleep?”

 

“I think it would be better if I were on the outside, actually.  I think it will tell my subconscious that I’m trying to protect you.”

 

“I’m willing to try it if you are,” Keith said.  He was exhausted, too, and even the thin mattress was incredibly appealing.  

 

At Keith’s suggestion, they took the extra precaution of rolling him up in his blanket so he’d be less likely to accidentally move his arms in his sleep.  Shiro’s gratitude was nearly palpable, which was strange. It was such a simple thing to do--why _wouldn’t_ he offer?  Still, it was nice to be appreciated.  

 

They lay down back to back, and there was sufficient room for them both after all.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Shiro tried not to sigh.  All that fuss about how to get them both into the same bed and now he couldn’t sleep.  Fantastic.

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how Keith had just accepted it, like it was nothing.  Shiro was dangerous and volatile and Keith had talked through their options without batting an eye.  Incredible. He owed that kid a better apology. It wasn't just that he’d lost his temper--it was that he doubted him in the first place.  Keith had been kind because Keith _was_ kind, not because he didn’t want to be slowed down and inconvenienced during the escape.  Like he’d said: he would have carried Shiro anyway.

 

And Shiro believed him.

 

Okay, he was probably beating himself up too much over a small misjudgement in a moment of high stress.  Still. He and Rick-- _wow_ , Keith--were going to be together for the next few months at minimum and it would be wise to stay on good terms with each other.  Should he bring the incident up again, or would that be overkill? Not that Shiro knew what he wanted to say anyway. Keith was safe.  He didn’t mind being near him. If the touch was necessary, than he wouldn’t mind that, either. He just… He was ashamed. He was ashamed about what happened to him and he didn’t want Keith of all people to see if because Keith was the one who would’ve been hurt, too.  Fuck.

 

Bitter tears welled up and flowed over without permission.  He hated what had happened and he hated that it almost happened to Rick--dammit, to _Keith_ \--and he didn’t want Keith to hate him for it.  He _liked_ Keith.  Keith was his partner in all of this and, most importantly, Keith was his friend.  The realization hit him in the gut and Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his arm.  It was only by force of will that he didn’t whimper.

 

Fuck it.  Maybe he should just cram himself into the toilet closet and bawl his eyes out.  Keith would be able to hear him, though. Maybe he’d sleep through it if Shiro could stay quiet enough…?

 

Behind him, Keith squirmed in his blanket.  Poor kid. Shiro had burrito-rolled him more tightly than he meant to, not that Keith had seemed to mind.  He’d mumbled something to the effect of “Gonna finally be warm” and closed his eyes immediately. The kid was lonely, wasn't he.  He missed his friends. Shiro hoped he’d be able to sleep well.

 

Keith squirmed again and Shiro realized the half-Galra wasn't moving to get comfortable--he was trying to wriggle out of bed.  

 

“Something wrong?” he asked, rising up on his elbow.

 

“Sorry--didn’t mean to wake you,” Keith said apologetically.  “I’m going back to the pilot’s chair.”

 

“Not enough room?”

 

“Um, no.  I just don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

 

Now that made no sense.  The kid had had his own fight the day before and their escape had been physically and emotionally intense: there was no way he wasn't tired.  He must be worried about something. Maybe Shiro should move away and give him the whole mattress. He’d more than earned it.

 

“Anything I can do?”

 

There was a pause.

 

“No, probably not.  It’s just...it’s too quiet,” Keith said.

 

Now that Shiro could understand.  The cell was never fully quiet even at night: having two dozen creatures around you makes for a lot breathing and not a small amount of snoring.

 

“I’m listening too hard,” Keith continued with a sigh.  “In the cell, I knew where the threats were, and now I can’t stop trying to find them.”   He sighed again and began to extricate himself from his blanket trap. “I’m not used to being safe yet.”

 

“Yeah, me either,” Shiro said, and his treacherous voice cracked.  Keith looked at him and Shiro did not turn away fast enough to hide the evidence of tears.  Fuck. He should have kept his arm over his eyes.

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked quietly.

 

Shiro curled in on himself and struggled to breathe around the sob that threatened to tear its way out of his chest.  He shook his head. 

 

“Do you want me to hold you?”

 

The sob did break then.  He wasn't sure if he nodded but thank god, Keith held him anyway.  Gentle and firm, Keith was a warm presence behind and around him and, finally safe, Shiro cried himself to sleep.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

The human had wailed.  He was broken by pain and Keith was now infinitely glad no other Blades were present.  The man deserved to grieve for himself in as much privacy as possible. He had not expected Shiro to want to be held, but he was glad for it.  It would have been agony to listen to him without offering any comfort, and he was only sorry there was nothing more he could do.

 

God, this man was so strong.  How had he bottled up so much pain and rage for so long?  Keith remembered when he’d first met the Champion. He’d been a husk.  He never would have expected to find someone so fiercely alive buried in that man.  

 

Shiro whimpered in his sleep and Keith rubbed his side, mindful of the bruises and welts and he knew were there.  

 

“Just rest now,” he whispered.  “Just rest.”

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Upon opening his eyes, Shiro felt like he was truly awake for the first time in days.  He also felt disgusting. His nose was raw from crying and crusty with old snot and that was a hell of a combo.  He started to move to get up and realized there was an arm around him.

 

Keith.

 

The half-Galra was evidently still asleep and Shiro didn't have the heart to disturb him.  He made a half-hearted attempted to slip free but the arm closed protectively tighter and he bit back a chuckle, feeling like a giant stuffed toy a kitty was snuggling with.  Probably not a fair comparison for either of them. Keith was more like a tiger. Shiro was more like...hungry, if that sudden stomach growl was any indication.

 

Keith woke with a loud snort and Shiro did chuckle at that.

 

“Wha?  Somethin’ happen?” he asked sleepily.  

 

“Nope.  I just woke up,” Shiro told him.  Keith grunted acknowledgement and snuggled back down before starting awake.

 

“Oh, sorry,” he said, yanking back his arm.  “Didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

 

“It’s fine,” Shiro said, yawning and stretching.  “Kind of funny, actually. You’re really clingy.”

 

“Sorry,” Keith said again, clearly very embarrassed, “but I did warn you: I don’t move in my sleep.”

 

Shiro laughed again.  “Apparently not. Well, I’m going to shower.  Are you okay with helping me change my bandages?”

 

They made quick work of the removal and Keith remarked that things were healing well.  Shiro showered and Keith far-too-discreetly spent his time carefully examining cupboards on the far wall until Shiro called him over to help with the rebandaging.  After that, he carefully wormed his way into his new clothes.

 

“These must be meant for a Galra,” Shiro commented.  It was the first time in years he’d worn something that was actually loose on him.  

 

“If you don’t like them, we can buy different things,” Keith said.  “We’ll be coming up on Dekko in a few varga.”

 

Over breakfast, Shiro finally calculated out that a varga was essentially an hour and learned that Dekko was a large moon.  

 

(“An ice moon,” Keith grinned, “so you can take a few samples if you want.”  Shiro had thrown a nut at him.)

 

Keith had then showered--prompting Shiro to also find the far cupboards fascinating--and then dressed as well.

 

“Are those your own clothes?” Shiro asked curiously.  Keith was now dressed in tight grey pants and black boots with a black shirt and red jacket.  The ensemble fit him perfectly and the jacket in particular had the worn look of a well-loved item.

 

“Yup.  This is my civilian stuff,” Keith smiled.  “Haven’t worn this probably a decapheob.”

 

(Shiro then learned a decapheob was approximately a year and that Keith was somewhere in the range of 19 years old.  He offered his own age in return.)

 

“You’re a lot younger than I thought,” Keith said in surprise.  “Or maybe humans don’t live very long?”

 

“80 to 100 years, depending on your genetics and health habits.  Why did you think I was older?” Shiro asked curiously. How old did he seem?

 

“You said you were Earth’s best pilot,” Keith shrugged.  “You’re pretty young for that.”

 

“I’m record-breaking, and thanks,” Shiro grinned.  “Anyway, you said this is an ice planet. Do we have any coats?”

 

Luckily, they did, and they spent a few minutes--or a few doboshes--sorting through their options.  Shiro tried on the heaviest coat and presented himself for Keith’s approval. The half-Galra frowned.

 

“We need to come up with a cover story, since you have bite marks,” he as eyed Shiro over.  “No one will believe you and I are mates, not with you looking like that,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

 

A stone dropped into Shiro’s gut.  It hadn’t occurred to him to pretend anything of the sort, but he immediately saw it clearly.  He was covered in scars. He was damaged goods. He was--

 

“And of course I’m like this,” Keith concluded with a sigh.  

 

Eh?

 

“I don’t get it,” Shiro said, blinking.  “What do I look like? What do you _look_ like?”

 

Keith was somewhere between confused and exasperated.  “Have you never seen yourself?!”

 

Okay, so his original interpretation was correct.  He stiffened. “Not since my kidnap and subsequent torture and maiming, no.”

 

Now Keith just looked baffled.

 

“Wait, did you think I was insulting you…?  Shiro, you’re--you’re--you’re like the consort to a king!  And me? I’m scrawny. _That’s_ why no one would think we’re mates.”

 

“Keith, I’m scarred up to hell and missing an arm,” Shiro said, completely unconvinced.  “And you’re not scrawny.”

 

“I’m scrawny for a Galra, and what do scars have to do with anything?” Keith said.

 

“Scars are ugly.  What? What’s with that expression?” Shiro said, now trying not to laugh.  Keith looked as if he was eating a lemon for the first time. His eye actually twitched.

 

“I’m trying not to insult your culture!” he burst out.

 

“My culture?” Shiro laughed.  “You mean because I think scars are ugly?”

 

“Scars are _badges_ ,” Keith insisted.  “They show what you survived.  It’s the mark of a strong warrior.”

 

“Wouldn’t a strong warrior have no scars?” Shiro suggested, raising an eyebrow.

 

“All I’m saying is you look tough and I look weak,” Keith said, “and _no_ one wants a weak Galra.”

 

“I don’t think you look weak,” Shiro said.  “Smaller than me? Yes. But you still look dangerous.  I wouldn’t want to fight you.”

 

Keith scowled and his ears flattened.  “I’m being serious.”

 

“What makes you think I’m not?”

 

Keith stared at him through furrowed brows for several moments.  “Humans are weird,” he finally concluded. “And I do _look_ weak.”

 

“I’ll agree to disagree,” Shiro smiled.  “Anyway, what is the story of a tough human and a tiny Galra?”

 

(“I’m small not _tiny_ ,” Keith insisted.)

 

(“Whatever you say,” Shiro grinned.)

 

“Let’s keep it simple.  We’re travelling from Piter to Ven because of work.  It’s sort of true--I was picked up on Piter and Ven is in the direction of Earth, and we _are_ on a mission.  And I guess if anyone asks if we’re mates, that’s none of their business.”

 

“The best lies have some truth,” Shiro said, nodding his approval.  “Alright! Show me how to pilot this thing. I’m not convinced it can land, and I want to fly again before I die.”

 

Keith laughed.  “Okay. Let’s see what you can do.”

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Strictly speaking, it was not Shiro’s fault they almost crashed.  The ship was a piece of shit, after all, but Keith was (privately) confident he would have handled the situation better, even if neither of them could have foreseen that the left wing stabilizer would reverse, stall out, and then reverse again.  Still, they lived, and that was the main thing. The ship, however, was going to require repairs, so after tugging on gloves, coats, and hats, they stepped out in search of Keith’s contact.

 

Keith hated being cold, but damn if it didn’t feel good to have fresh air on his skin and to experience actual _weather_ , snow and all.  

 

“You know, if we’d really been thinking, we could have worn our flight suits instead,” Shiro said, breathing puffing out in clouds.  “Warm enough for space, warm enough for Dekko.”

 

“Galra suits, though,” Keith pointed out.  

 

“True,” Shiro said.  

 

They crunched over the snow.  It was old enough to be crusty and Keith was glad they weren’t wading through fresh powder.  The operative in him was mildly annoyed at walking so loudly, though, but at least they’d hear anyone else.  They had landed a little ways outside of town, partly due to not having a permit and partly due to the spectacular failure that was their descent.  Shiro’s boots stopped crunching and Keith turned out to check what had halted his progress. The human was looking up at the sky in wonder.

 

“Do you know, this is the first time I’ve been on a planet outside of my own solar system?  I just realized that. Up until now, I’ve only been on ships,” he said, slowly marvelling at the landscape.  

 

“It’s a moon,” Keith corrected.  What a stupid thing to say.

 

Shiro gave him a half smile and shrug, and they started walking again.  It wasn't a very pretty moon in Keith’s opinion, but after a cell? Yeah, there was an appeal.  Maybe it would be more interesting if he’d never left his own solar system…? Of course, he’d never had a central location to his life, so that wasn't really something he could relate t--

 

Something hard whacked him on the back of the head and Keith sprung to the side, hissing, eyes roving in search of an enemy.  Shiro blinked at him in surprise.

 

“What’s wrong?” he said, looking around to find the cause of Keith’s agitation.

 

“Something hit me,” Keith said, voice low and ears plastered back.  This was bad. They were out in the open, completely exposed. They needed to find cover, but where?  Maybe a--

 

A second object whacked into him, this time hitting his chest.  Keith stared in disbelief at Shiro.

 

“Was it like that?” Shiro asked innocently.

 

A snowball.  A fucking snowball.  

 

“How old again did you say were?” Keith asked.

 

“Has anyone told you you’re a bit high strung?”

 

The resulting tussle left them both covered in snow and laughing helplessly.  Keith’s braid was almost completely undone and the cold was stinging their skin by the time they called a truce.  Shiro’s hat was given up as a lost cause--a victim of war, irretrievably missing in the snow--and the rest of their walk into town was considerably more jovial.  Keith had the name of their contact but no directions, so they stepped into the first shop they came across, a combination bar and trading post.

 

Stamping his boots clean at the door, Keith nodded acknowledgement to the barkeeper’s greeting.  He walked forward right as a patron got off a stool and nearly collided with the larger alien, who turned and sneered down at him.

 

“Hello little half-runt,” he grinned.  “You needed someone to keep you warm?”

 

“He’s taken,” Shiro said mildly.  

 

Gratified by the gestured but annoyed nonetheless, Keith gave Shiro a meaningful frown, but the human missed it as he was busy removing his coat to shake it out and pat off the last of the snow.  Which meant the bite marks on his shoulder were visible. Damn it. Now he _really_ seemed like Shiro’s mate.  Not that there was anything wrong with that--but it would mean more “conversation” with the alien Keith had nearly plowed into.  And, sure enough, the alien whistled low.

 

“Look at all those bite marks!  Runtie, you feeling insecure?” he laughed.  

 

“If you think this is a lot, you should see my thighs,” Shiro said, unconcerned as he zipped his coat back up.

 

Holy.

 

Shit.

 

The shop went silent.  The patrons, already interested in the exchange, were now enthralled thanks to Shiro’s salacious remark and they turned as one to stare at Keith.   There was no way he knew what he’d said. Surely not.

 

Face hurting from the force of his blush, Keith slunk back to Shiro, grabbed the edge of his sleeve, and tugged him back outside without a word.

 

“Wow, I can’t believe he said that to you,” Shiro said with shocked anger the second they were outside.  “Are you okay? Do you want to go back in? Because I will fight him.”

 

“Oh god,” Keith whimpered, hiding his face in his hands.  “Please never talk to anyone about that ever again. Ohhhh god.”

 

“What?  What’s wrong?  I thought it was okay to defend you,” Shiro said, dripping with genuine concern.

 

Keith was far too embarrassed to look at him and kept his face buried.  “On a scale of 1 to 10 of inappropriately kinky things to say in public, that was an 11.”

 

Shiro dropped into stunned silence.

 

“Ohhh god I’m glad my mother didn’t hear that,” Keith shuddered.

 

“Oh.  Um. Sorry,” Shiro said.  “Out of curiosity, what did I say?  Er, what do they think I said?”

 

Keith finally peaked up at him.  He was puzzled, apologetic, and awkward--and possibly blushing but the cold made it hard to tell--and Keith felt bad for him.

 

“Um, biting is a big deal anyway, and uh...biting multiple times is a really big deal, and biting intimate places is uh………,” Keith couldn’t finish the sentence and hid his face again.

 

“Oh wow.  Sorry, I just thought he was insulting you for being, you know, shorter than me?  Or a small Galra or something?” Shiro offered.

 

“Oh he was definitely insulting me,” Keith said, ears back in annoyance.  “He was saying I’m too insecure to have you as a mate, so I have to keep marking you as mine.”  He shook his head and then shrugged. “I get those kinds of comments sometimes. It’s not a big deal.  Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Okay,” Shiro said doubtfully. “I don’t like letting people get away with that, but if that’s what you want.  A-and sorry about making it worse.”

 

Keith pressed down a smile.  “Thanks anyway, but yeah. No thanks.”

 

Shiro was dutifully silent after that and they made it Keith’s contact without further trouble.  There was a friendly jingling of bells as Keith opened the door and the owner greeted them politely.  The shop was empty and Keith wasn’t surprised when the owner offered the passcode before Keith could ask for it.  He waved them to the back of the store. Once in private, he immediately faced Shiro.

 

“Please, bow a little,” the small man said, gesturing to Shiro.  

 

Shiro bowed obediently and the alien tugged on a hat so large it nearly swallowed his head.  

 

“This one has a very large bounty,” the owner explained, talking to Keith.

 

Keith’s heart sank in dread.  “Why? We covered our tracks--they should think we’re dead,” he whispered.

 

The owner shrugged.  “All the prisoners have bounties.  I don’t think they know who all died.  It’s a bounty hunter’s dream right now.”

 

Keith couldn’t help sagging.  All that work: wasted.

 

“Now then--I am sure you need supplies.  Our mutual friends have already paid me well.  Let’s talk business.”

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

The contact’s name was Uvliha, or rather that was the closest approximate Shiro could manage, and Keith, Uvliha, and Uvliha’s assistant gave him such a piteous look when he attempted to try it that Shiro slunk off in embarrassment and helped the assistant load up supplies.   His name was Tok--far more manageable.

 

“So has there been much talk about the prisoner escape?” Shiro asked as he arranged another box on the sled.  

 

“They’ve been good at keep the situation under wraps so far,” Tok said, grunting as he shifted a stack of heavy barrels out of the way.  “Bounty hunters are all over it, of course, but they don’t want a public panic, so there’s mostly just gossip about mechanical problems keeping the arena closed for a while.”

 

“So no one knows the Champion is missing?” Shiro mused.  Somehow he liked that--the idea that the Galra were afraid of him being loose and wanted to keep it quiet.

 

“Who made your arm?  You seem to be working well with it,” Tok asked.

 

Something painful stirred and Shiro tamped it down.  

 

“It works well,” was all he managed to say.

 

“You have much feeling in it?  I’m doing better these days since I got a better processor for my foot.  Hard enough walking on ice without having a numbed up mess,” the alien said, tapping on his knee.  It sounded metal.

 

“Can’t tell the difference actually,” Shiro said.  He stared down at his hand. He’d taken his gloves off while they worked and he pressed the finger tips of each hand together.  It was bizarre--the Galra hand could feel the skin of his human hand with the same sensitivity that his human hand felt against the metal.  

 

Tok whistled low.  “That’s some good work.”

 

“I guess,” Shiro said shortly.  He returned to packing. God. He’d been so focused on surviving that somehow he’d forgotten _he was missing an arm_.  Should he be grateful that it worked so naturally?  Because he shouldn’t have fucking needed it replaced.

 

“Bad story?  Sorry,” Tok said sympathetically.

 

Right.  None of this was Tok’s fault.  “Galra,” Shiro offered with a pained smile.

 

“That’s everybody’s story.  Hard not to hate the Galra,” he said, passing a bag to him.  “Probably the understatement of the century.”

 

“Am I that obvious?” Shiro said wryly.  

 

A small cough caught their attention and they turned to see Keith and Uvliha in the door.  

 

“Need any more help or are you about ready to go?” Keith asked lightly.  

 

A twinge of guilt dripped into Shiro’s gut--had Keith heard them?  Did it bother him? But Keith and Uvliha seemed perfectly natural as they helped ready the last of the supplies and he decided not to bring it up.  Maybe later, if Keith was acting uncomfortable. Of course, that was probably going to happen anyway thanks to his "kinky" blunder. Damn. He was not doing well today.

 

The walk back was fairly quiet.  Tok came with them as apparently he would need to remove some parts to fix them and would return the next day.  It had started to snow but thankfully there was no wind, so while they were more than a little cold by the time they made it back to the ship, they weren’t miserable.  

 

“And that’s that for now,” Keith said as he closed the door after Tok departed.  “The good news is we’ll have hot water starting tomorrow. The bad news is we won’t have heat tonight.”

 

“Delightful.  What’s the plan to not freeze?” Shiro said.  

 

Keith smiled weakly.  “Be cold? You can put on my flight suit if you want.”

 

“Why aren’t you putting on yours?” Shiro said, confused.  The flight suit was a good idea--warm enough for space, warm enough for Dekko.  

 

“Well, neither of us can wear yours since it’s bloody,” Keith pointed out briskly.  “How are your wounds?”

 

“They’re not bad.  We probably shouldn’t have snow-wrestled, but things are doing well, and you’ll be wearing your flight suit,” Shiro said, keeping his same nonchalant tone as he put away supplies.

 

“If that’s what you want,” Keith said.  

 

It surprised him that Keith didn’t argue the point, but he was glad.  If he got _that_ cold he’d put on his own suit.  It was his blood after all.

 

It was getting late by the time they finished putting their supplies away.  Neither one felt brave enough to shower without heat in the ship, but at least in the future there would be soap, towels, and even a curtain.  Shiro felt halfway decent just thinking about it: taking a hot shower, like a goddamn human being.

 

They had both been heartily embarrassed (and gratified) to learn their tiny bathroom/cupboard had sliding panels that more than doubled the space, and combining that with their impending hot water and their new supply of thicker bedding meant they had a lot to be happy about and even if they didn’t talk much, the evening was merry.  

 

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” Keith asked after they finished dinner.  “You can have some of my blankets.” He was in the flight suit now and Shiro had no doubt he was still cold, if his darkened nose and cheeks were any indication.  

 

“Wanna share?” Shiro suggested.  “It’ll be warmer for both of us.”

 

Keith faltered.  “It won’t bother you?”

 

“If you’re by the wall and you don’t move again, we should be fine,” Shiro said, a bit more confidently than he actually felt.  It was freaking _cold_ now that the sun was down and he really didn’t relish the idea of squirming into a flight suit that was stiff with old blood, so this should be fine, right?  Fuck it all.

 

It was a matter of a minute to get settled down with the blankets pulled over them.  It was fairly cozy, or it would have been if Keith hadn’t be carefully at the fair edge of the mattress.

 

“You can get closer.  I’m not that bothered by touch,” Shiro assured him, only belatedly realizing that perhaps Keith might not want to touch _him_ \--especially after his disastrous comments earlier in the day.  Thankfully, Keith snuggled closer and whatever crisis Shiro had begun to invent did not transpire.

 

“Thank you,” the half-Galra mumbled.  “Let me know if you need me to move.”

 

“You’re fine,” Shiro promised.

 

Keith grunted but said nothing and burrowed a little deeper under the blankets.  He was nearly buried now with just his ears and top of his head still visible. Shiro smiled.  Keith was so like a cat in some ways, seeking warmth. It was easy to picture him sprawled in a puddle of sunlight, soaking up the rays.

 

A small shiver brought him back to the moment.

 

“Still cold?” he asked.  When the nearly-hidden head bobbed, he chuckled.  “Let me try something--tell me if it’s too hot.”

 

His metal arm grew slightly warmer at his thought and Keith gave a happy cry, wrapping both of his arms around it instantly.

 

“Better?” Shiro chuckled.

 

“Waaaaarm,” Keith said, now tugging up Shiro’s arm so he could rub it over his face.  

 

“What are you doing?” Shiro laughed, peering under the blankets.

 

“You’re letting in cold air!” Keith hissed.

 

Shiro apologized, still laughing, and joined Keith.  The faint purple of his arm light up their small cave, painting them in soft shadows.  

 

“My nose is cold,” Keith explained petulantly when Shiro repeated his question.

 

“Just your nose?” Shior mused.  He played his fingers over the half-Galra’s face, causing Keith to close his eyes with a contented hum.

 

Keith might well be cold, but Shiro could feel the warmth of his skin through his metal fingers.  He hated what had happened to him, but it really was incredible how much sensation he still had, and he marvelled at the feeling of smooth skin.  Keith made encouraging noises as Shiro rolled his fingers across his cheeks and over his nose and then down to his chin and lips. Keith’s lips were soft and plush and without planning to, Shiro pressed his thumb against the lowering one, savoring the reality of _feeling_.

 

“Does it bother you?” Keith asked quietly.   

 

Shiro’s eyes snapped up to find violet ones trained on him.

 

“The arm?”

 

“That I’m Galra.”

 

Shiro almost asked where the question had come from when he noticed it--the sharp fang he’d exposed when he’d pressed on Keith’s lip.  

 

“Sorry,” he said, removing his thumb immediately.  “I wasn't paying attention to anything in particular--just warming up your face.”

 

Keith continued to stare at him, something sad forming in his eyes and brow.

 

“It’s not something I think about,” Shiro said honestly.  “I don’t think of you as half-Galra or half-human or half-anything.  You’re Keith. I think of you as Keith.”

 

Keith’s expression eased a fraction.

 

“So it doesn’t bother you?”

 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Shiro echoed firmly.

 

Keith’s face eased fully then.  “I’m glad,” he said, closing his eyes.

 

It was the last thing either of them said that evening, and Shiro continued to warm Keith’s face until his breathing turned soft.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever. God, it is so fucking hard to write post S8. I'll add more author notes in the morning but I just wanted to get this out now so y'all have something. >_<
> 
> Fuck DreamWorks.
> 
> And the boys will be a lot more relationship-y/loving/smutty starting next chapter.
> 
> And fuck DreamWorks.


	4. The Journey (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro confronts himself, Keith gets a little braver, and there's a lot of stuff about water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: PTSD-related nightmares, rape mention.

Hot.  Fucking.   _Water_.

 

Shiro had never known bliss before this moment.  Waves of heaven washed down his body, warming and cleansing him, surrounding him with God’s pure truth and joy.  This was a revelation. The prophets and wise men of old had all been wrong, sitting under their cold waterfalls--the path to Nirvana definitely resided in hot. Fucking.   _Water_.

 

On the other side of the curtain, Keith was snickering at him.  Perhaps he’d let out one too many sighs of exaggerated comfort.

 

“Don’t be jealous; you’ll get your turn,” Shiro hummed.  

 

“I dunno,” Keith said mildly.  “You planning on leaving me any hot water?”

 

Shiro briefly considered feeling guilty and decided against it.  There would always be more hot water later, and if there was one thing they had in abundance it was time and not much to do with it, especially now that they were back in space.  He hummed again in lieu of answering and Keith chuckled.

 

Finally satiated, Shiro patted himself dry, tied his towel around his hips, and slid back the curtain.  Keith glanced up at him, having been on his tablet, and smiled.

 

“Glad to see you didn’t drown,” he smirked.

 

“Just got a little pruny, but that’s it,” Shiro said, rubbing his fingertips.  This comment led to Keith grabbing his hand and staring in fascinated horror as Shiro explained why his fingers had “wrinkled like a dead julan in the sun”.  

 

“Human bodies are bizarre,” Keith said, shaking his head.  He then blushed hard and stammered an apology.

 

“It’s fine,” Shiro chuckled.  “I think pretty much everyone except humans have weird bodies.”  Keith started to look offended and Shiro laughed harder. “You _just_ called me bizarre, you know.”

 

Keith smiled sheepishly and Shiro sat down next to him on their mattress, combing his wet hair with his fingers.  How had they forgotten to get a comb when they _both_ had long hair?  Ridiculous. Well, they could pick one up the next time they stopped on a planet.  Maybe they should get a razor as well, he reflected as he rubbed at his chin. Keith tracked the motion curiously.

 

“How many humans have face fur?  My dad didn’t in the picture my mom showed me.”

 

“It’s called a ‘beard’, and it’s something men grow.  I usually keep it shaved off--most men do, actually. Fashion, I guess,” Shiro reflected.  “I must look like a mess.”

 

“I think you look very nice,” Keith said earnestly.  “Here, I’ll show you.”

 

He tapped a few times on his tablet and handed it over.  Shiro’s face appeared on the screen. He grimaced. Bedraggled hair, patchy beard, giant scar.  Shiro never thought of himself as an overly handsome, but he’d certainly looked better than this.  Maybe he could dye the white stripe later, make himself look a little younger…? Not that it mattered.  A gash like that across his nose already spelled the end of him.

 

“I think you look very nice,” Keith repeated, this time quietly.  

 

Shiro glanced at him to see the boy was watching him closely, something sad in his face.  Shiro patted him on the head and handed back the tablet.

 

“Thanks for letting me look,” he said.  “I think I’m dry enough for bandages--you wanna help?”

 

~*~*~

 

_“I’ve brought a shiv.”_

 

_No, please, don’t give me that._

 

_“Take it.  You need one.”_

 

_No, Frell, no.  Stop it, don’t come closer._

 

_“It’s okay, I don’t need it anymore.”_

 

_Stop it, you’re dead, stop crawling, no, no no no--_

 

Keith woke up with a gasp.  His heart was hammering in his chest but as far as he could tell, he hadn’t been moving, so that was good.  The human was still asleep beside him and he closed his eyes. It was the fourth time he’d had that dream, the first time since leaving the arena.

 

“You okay?” the human mumbled.  

 

So much for Shiro being asleep.

 

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” Keith said.  He stared at the dark ceiling and worked on evening out his breaths and smoothing out his heartbeat.  He was okay. Frell was dead. It was just a dream.

 

“Were you close to him?”

 

Ah, so he’d been talking in sleep.  Lovely.

 

“No,” Keith said quietly, ”but everything gets magnified in places like that, so it _feels_ like I was.”

 

Shiro rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow.  “I think that counts,” he said.

 

“I don’t know,” Keith said, surprised to find tears rolling down his cheeks.  “I never even told him my name.”

 

“You two shared food, didn’t you?  That counts more than a name does,” Shiro said.  

 

It kind of did, didn’t it?  A name didn’t mean much in a place like the arena, and Keith wouldn’t have been able to tell Frell his name anyway--too much risk for the Blades.  Come to think of it, Keith had never told _anyone_ his name.  They were either in the Blades and already knew it or they were outside the Blades and that meant they were told a codename at best.  No wonder he hadn’t been friends with Frell: Keith had never been friends with anyone.

 

Except Shiro.

 

“Shiro?” Keith asked, rolling over to face him.  “Are we friends?” He knew how he felt about it, but that didn’t mean the human felt the same way.  

 

“Definitely,” Shiro said emphatically, a smile in his voice.

 

And that felt great.

 

~*~*~

 

It was easy to talk to Keith at any given time, but something about lying next to him in the privacy of the dark made Shiro’s words lose and free.  Keith seemed to feel the same, telling him about how he’d never really known anyone outside of his organization and how he’d certainly never had a _friend_ who wasn't part of his group.  Shiro in turn told him about going through the Galaxy Garrison at a young age and how his classmates were often distant.

 

“I was younger than them, but I kept up with or even surpassed them.  I didn’t have the social skills to make friends with people older than me, and maybe they were jealous or maybe they just didn’t know what to think,” Shiro said, “but I wasn't really close with anyone except Adam.”

 

“Who is Adam?” Keith asked, and Shiro wondered if he had just made a mistake.  

 

“My ex,” he said, waiting for the inevitable hurt to take him.  

 

“Ex what?” Keith asked again.

 

“Boyfriend,” Shiro clarified.  “And roommate.”

 

“Why aren’t you friends any more?” Keith asked.  

 

“I guess some people have an easy time being friends with their exes, but there wasn't a lot of time between us breaking up and when I lef--oh.  Oh, you probably don’t know the term ‘boyfriend’, do you?”

 

“I take it that it means more than ‘a friend that is a boy’?” Keith guessed.

 

“Yeah, it means we were dating.  Um, you don’t know that one either, do you?”

 

Keith considered.  “Is it like courting?  What you do before becoming mates?”

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.  ‘Mates’ is a permanent thing, right?  Two people decide to stay together as romantic and sexual partners and plan to start a family?”

 

“Yeah, that’s mates.  So Adam was your almost mate?” Keith continued, curious.  

 

Shiro doubted Keith understood the niceties of human courtship as plenty of humans dated without intending to get married, but in this case he was quite right: before they’d started arguing, he’d been thinking of proposing.  

 

“My almost mate and my best friend,” Shiro affirmed, his voice soft.  He’d lost a lot when he’d broken up with Adam.

 

Keith was silent and Shiro smiled in the dark, amusement threatening to sneak past his lips.  He could feel Keith’s curiosity fighting against his politeness.

 

“It’s okay if you want to ask questions,” he said.

 

“Why aren’t you mates?  Why did you ‘breakup’?” Keith asked immediately.

 

“I’ve got a disease--or maybe I don’t anymore; the druids might have ‘fixed’ that.  Anyway, it’s making my muscles slowly die. I’m going to die young, and he didn’t want me to risk the time I have left by going on a long mission,” Shiro said.  It hurt to say, but to his surprise, it hurt more to think of the druids than of Adam.

 

“He wanted to have all of your time...or none at all?” Keith said slowly, confusion thick in his voice.

 

“That’s one way to look at it.  It’s how I felt about it at the time, but I think I get it now.  It’s hard to watch someone you care about put themselves in danger.  I don’t blame him for not wanting to see that,” Shiro sighed. “That, and there was always the chance my disease would get worse while I was gone and I’d end up putting my crew in danger.”

 

“You don’t seem like the type of person to put your crew’s health in jeopardy,” Keith said doubtfully.

 

“Realistically, it will be several years before my muscles deteriorate to the level where I’d be grounded from flying, but it was a concern,” Shiro said automatically.  It was a line he’d said many times.

 

“So your crew knew about it and they fine with it,” Keith said, sounding satisfied.  

 

“Sam actually insisted on me being the pilot,” Shiro chuckled fondly.

 

“Who is Sam??”

 

It was harder to talk about Sam and Matt, and Shiro realized he missed the Holts more than he missed Adam.  Maybe it was because they were his crew and he’d seen them more recently and was more worried about their well-being.  Maybe it was because he’d decided to let Adam go whereas the Holts had been taken from him. Maybe it was because he’d started to heal.  

 

(And geez, if it all took to get over a breakup was a year of space-torture, than why did people complain about it?  Wimps.)

 

“So they’re still alive then, probably,” Keith said, considering the information Shiro had shared and his reasoning about Sendak.  “I think you’re right: Sendak would definitely have let you know if they died.”

 

“I was kind of hoping one of your associates  would meet up with us,” Shiro admitted. “I wanted to find out if they knew anything about the Holts.”

 

“I doubt it,” Keith said. “They would have been easier to break out than the Champion.  If other humans had been an option, we wouldn’t have helped you.”

 

Oh.  And that would be why they didn’t free Keith or himself right away--they were hoping for easier options that didn’t pan out.

 

“Well, I mean, _I_ would have helped you, just not…as a member,” Keith said quietly.

 

Something soft and painful moved in Shiro’s chest and somehow he couldn’t help smiling.  “I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

They talked for a few more minutes--now on lighter subjects--before Keith began to yawn.  They said goodnight and soon the half-Galra was asleep, leaving Shiro to contemplate him in silence.

 

There was something miraculous about how much Keith trusted him.  Sure, Shiro had saved him from being raped, but trusting someone with your body is different from trusting them with _yourself_ , and so far as Shiro could tell, Keith didn’t trust anyone else the way he did Shiro. How had he earned that?   _Had_ he earned it, or had Keith simply decided to give it?  He was an impulsive creature of instincts, but he was learning to be careful.  And, if he’d never opened himself up like this before, what did it mean that he had chosen to do so with Shiro?

 

But then...wasn't Shiro doing the same with him?

 

(And just what did _that_ mean?)

 

~*~*~

 

“Hey Shiro, would you mind teaching me how to fight like you?” Keith asked.  It had been a full movement since they left Dekko and Shiro’s body was nearly healed.  And well, if he wasn't healed enough to fight, Keith was just going to have to trust him to decide what his body was capable of--even though the temptation to make him rest more was strong.

 

“So, you want to learn footwork, do you?” Shiro grinned.  “You think we’ve got enough time to teach you?” He winked, and Keith found himself needing to immediately redirect the conversation.

 

“What?  We’re still a good two pheobs out--we might as well spend it doing something productive,” he said as casually as he could.  Was he blushing? From a wink that was in no way related to flirting? Wow.

 

“Only two pheobs?  In this piece of shit?” Shiro said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Once we make it to Iolip we can board a transport.  There’re ones that are big enough to carry multiple smaller ships, and they go a _lot_ faster than this poor thing,” Keith said, giving the wall of their ship an affection pat.  “We should name her at some point.”

 

“Ricky,” Shiro said immediately.

 

“I’m going to pretend that’s after me and not the singer,” Keith replied, lifting his chin.

 

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Shiro grinned.

 

“Alright, enough talking.  Square up,” Keith said, stretching his arms.  

 

Shiro’s grin broadened.  “I’ll go easy on you since we don’t have safety equipment.”  

 

“Don’t you dare, old man,” Keith grinned back.  Shiro smiled and he stretched as well and Keith couldn’t help noticing the smooth, rolling flex of his muscles.  Not a good time to get distracted.

 

A jab, a feint, and a kick later found him on his back, staring up at Shiro’s amused face, a hand behind his neck.  Not only had the man beaten him in four ticks, he had actually cushioned his fall so he didn’t hit his head on the ground.  Humiliating.

 

“What the hell?!  That’s nothing like how you fought in the arena!” Keith sputtered.  

 

“True,” Shiro said, offering a hand to help pull him, “but it is how I fought when I learned footwork.  Let’s try again.”

 

~*~*~

 

Sparring with Keith was easily the best part of Shiro’s day.  Sure, there wasn't much competition for favorite activity--not much to do in space--but it was fun to be training again.  Shiro loved being active and he loved teaching, and he especially loved teaching Keith. He was an eager student, clever and determined, and Shiro frequently had to hold him back.  He was a perfectionist who would have trained to exhaustion if Shiro had let him. It reminded him of himself.

 

He should have seen it coming that Keith would hurt himself--and that Keith wouldn’t _tell_ him he was hurt--and they were less than a week into their training when he noticed how often Keith was stretching his left shoulder.

 

“What’s going on there?” Shiro said pointedly as Keith stretched yet again.

 

“My muscle is a little tight, that’s all,” Keith scowled, ears back.  He obviously hated being coddled--another way he reminded Shiro of himself.  

 

“Lie down,” Shiro ordered, summoning up his no-nonsense, I’m-your-superior-officer voice.  “I’m going to take a look at it.”

 

Keith scowled again but lay down on the mattress.  

 

Shiro knelt next to him and immediately had to correct Keith’s posture, no doubt prompting further scowls.

 

“You need to be in a neutral position--shoulders back like this, hips tilted, and don’t turn your neck like that.  Hold on--let me get something under your legs so your back isn’t arched,” Shiro said, rearranging Keith’s limbs and the bedding in general.  Finally satisfied, he felt Keith’s shoulder.

 

“Where is it tightest?” he asked, fingers carefully prodding muscles.  

 

“Lower and closer to the spine,” Keith mumbled, face hidden.  

 

“Here?” Shiro guessed, and Keith tensed in response.  

 

“Yeah, around there,” he replied, hissing quietly in pain.  

 

“You’ve got a giant muscle knot,” Shiro said, clicking his tongue.  “These can get nasty. I’m betting you’ve got some lower down, mirrored on the other side.”  He began palpating lower.

 

“No, it only hurts ther--OW,” Keith yelped.  

 

“Yup.  Thought you’d have some above you hip.  Sorry about that,” he added.

 

“It didn’t hurt that much.  I was just surprised,” Keith insisted.

 

“Alright, well your back is a mess,” Shiro announced.  “Take off your shirt and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

The hesitation in Keith’s movements spoke volumes, and Shiro blushed in embarrassment when he realized what it might have sounded like to Keith.

 

“You don’t have to,” Shiro amended quickly, “but it’s much easier to work out knots when there isn’t clothing in the way.”

 

Keith nodded as he shucked off his shirt.  “It’s fine,” he said. “Just didn’t think you’d want to touch me.”

 

Oh.  

 

Shiro considered explaining himself again but really, why rehash it all?  The problems he had with touch were for himself, not someone else, and come to think of it--he hadn’t exactly tried letting anyone else touch him, so who was to say where the matter really stood.  A shudder of revulsion rippled through him. No, even the idea of someone other than Keith touching him was unthinkable.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Keith asked, voice muffled again in the blankets.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Shiro said.  “This will probably hurt some, but it shouldn’t hurt a lot, okay?  Let me know how it feels so I get an idea of what to do.”

 

Shiro began working on Keith’s muscles, hunting down one sore place after another.  Muscles, Shiro explained, were like dominos. Once one got too tight, it would pull another one out of place, which would pull on another one, until your whole body was out of alignment.  Shiro then had to explain what dominos were, and that somehow led to an explanation of chess and checkers, and by the time he’d finished with the games, Keith’s back was significantly better.

 

“I hope this is helping.  I used to do this all the time for Matt and Sam.  It was supposedly to keep their muscles healthy while we were in zero g, but I think Matt was just jealous that I needed massages to combat my disease,” Shiro chuckled.

 

“You’re really good at this,” Keith murmured.  “Feels good now.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Shiro smiled.  He pressed his thumbs deeper and felt another knot release.  Keith moaned quietly, and Shiro’s cock twitched.

 

He froze.

 

His cock had just responded to Keith and shit, that was not okay, and he’d given hundreds of massages and never thought twice about it, they were always _medical_ , but holy fuck his hands where on Keith’s naked back and his back was beautiful, and this was not okay _it was not okay_ to even _think_ about Keith in those terms, it was not okay to--

 

“Shiro?  You okay?” Keith asked, turning his head so he wasn't muffled by the pillows.  “You stopped.”

 

“Yeah, sorry.  Got lost in my head for a moment,” Shiro said, snapping back to the moment.  He needed to get off Keith’s back and away from his bare skin. “You’re good for now.  Let me know if starts hurting again.”

 

Keith agreed and stretched lazily, mumbling his thanks, and if he’d noticed anything about Shiro’s sudden fear, he was kind enough not to mention it.

 

~*~*~

 

Keith had moaned and the human had stopped touching him.  If _that_ wasn't embarrassing, nothing was.  Ugh, and it hadn’t even been that type of moan!  But it had sounded like one and he’d brought up horrifying memories and scared Shiro.  Shit. He knew better.

 

But, damn it, it had been so nice being treated by skillful hands that eased ache into relief while a warm voice patiently explained the mysteries of Earth and its customs.  Keith liked listening to Shiro talk about Earth. He liked sparring with him and talking to him and teasing him. Shiro was great and Keith had made him uncomfortable and that sucked, because Keith liked Shiro.

 

Oh shit.

 

Keith liked Shiro.  Keith _liked_ Shiro.

 

(Shit.)

 

Liking Shiro was not okay.  There was no way Shiro could handle that.  He’d be nice about it, though, Keith thought miserably.  He’d be so damn nice about it. He’d probably had to deal with a hundred students having crushes on him and why would Keith be any different?  Other than Keith having worse timing, of course. Shiro couldn’t even get privacy and space away from Keith, a fact all the more evident when they turned in for the night: the human was still acting stiff and unhappy, and Keith did his best to give him as much room as possible on the mattress.

 

Keith fell asleep with his fingers crossed, hoping things would be better in the morning.

 

~*~*~

 

_“Do you want more?”_

 

_No._

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“How many?”_

 

_“Ten.”_

 

_He had asked for five twice already.  God, please let this be enough._

 

_“And how many for him?”_

 

_No.  No no no he wasn't here this isn’t it this isn’t what happened._

 

_“How many for him?”_

 

_“I want 20.”_

 

_“And then how many for him?”_

 

_No no no no._

 

_“Either you decide or I do.”_

 

_“Twenty.”_

 

_The laughter that followed was dark and cruel and echoed between each lash.  “I would have settled for five. How does it feel--to be worse than me?”_

 

_Keith.  Keith please I’m sorry._

 

_How was he bloody already?  Had Shiro already whipped him?  He was crying god fuck Keith was crying._

 

_“Now come on him.  Come on him or I’ll come in him.”_

 

_Shiro took himself in hand and sobbed._

 

_“Shiro?  Shiro, it’s okay.”_

 

 _It’s not okay.  It will_ never _be okay._

 

“Shiro!”

 

Shiro’s eyes sprang up.  Keith was hovering over him but not touching him, face brimming with concern.  

 

“I’m awake,” he gasped.  “I’m fine. I’m awake.”

 

“You’re awake, but you’re not fine,” Keith said carefully.  “Do you want me to get you something?”

 

Shiro shook his head and closed his eyes again, focusing on slowing his breathing.  “Just another nightmare. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

 

Keith settled down next to him again without saying anything and Shiro found both his silence and presence comforting.  He knew Keith would watch over him until he either chose to speak or fell back to sleep.

 

Finally, when his breathing and heart rate were back under control, Shiro broke the silence.

 

“Did I say anything?”

 

“Not exactly,” Keith said, hesitating.  “You got a few words out, but it wasn't...clear.”

 

“Mostly screaming?” Shiro asked wryly.

 

“Mostly screaming,” Keith confirmed.  

 

Shiro appreciated Keith being open about it, rather than trying to hide the truth in an attempt to spare his feelings.

 

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

 

“It’s okay,” Keith said.  “It freaked me out for a tick, but it’s not a big deal.  I have nightmares, too.”

 

Shiro grunted assent.  This was hardly a new situation for either of them.  He sighed.

 

“It happened.  It happened and I hate it but it’s over and I just fucking want to move on.  I’m sick of dreaming about it. I slept all the fucking time back then, so I don’t get why I’m having so many nightmares about it _now_ ,” Shiro said.  There was anger in his voice, but mostly what he felt was defeat.  At least before he’d dreamed about things that had actually happened.  What fresh hell would his mind dredge up next?

 

“I wasn't afraid during my fights,” Keith said, slow and thoughtful.  “I didn’t have time to be. I was scared after though, when I was safe again.  Maybe it’s like that? We were both too busy trying to survive to care about what survival looked like.”

 

Shiro rolled onto his side to look at Keith.  The kid was a marvel. He might not have endured Sendak, but he faced the arena with fewer years of life experience to rely on, and he came out strong.

 

“You’re amazing,” Shiro said.

 

Keith blinked in surprise.  “Not r-really.”

 

“You are.  You’re holding me together when you already have your own shit to worry about.  It’s incredible. And god, you’re so young. You shouldn’t have to worry about some shattered old man.”

 

“Shiro,” Keith said crossly, “we’re both fucked up and you’re not old.”

 

Shiro couldn’t help laughing.  “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

 

“Can I...can I ask what this one was about?  You said ‘no’ a lot and you apologized, and I couldn’t tell for sure, but you might have said my name…?”

 

Fuck.  Shiro grimaced and considered not telling him.  Keith wouldn’t force him to say anything, but he did want to be honest with him, and he _had_ said his name.

 

“Sendak made me choose how many times you got whipped and he told me to rape you or he would.”

 

“Oh.”

 

In the silence that followed, Shiro wondered if maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.  He appreciated Keith’s openness with him, but maybe the reverse wasn't okay, considering the topic.

 

“It wouldn’t have been your fault, you know, if that had happened,” Keith said quietly.  He was studying Shiro’s face in the low light of the ship, careful and cautious and gentle.

 

It hurt.

 

“Do you blame yourself for what happened to you?” Keith asked.  

 

“I…,” Shiro faltered.  He hadn’t considered it, but… “Yes, in a way.  I should have given up fighting it earlier, or else I shouldn’t have given up at all.”

 

“So then for the first time--was _that_ your fault?”

 

Shiro swallowed hard.  “No,” he whispered.

 

“Sendak is a monster, Shiro.  Everything is his fault.”

 

“Fuck,” Shiro whispered, voice cracking.  “Fuck fuck fuck.” He curled in on himself, fists clenched.  “But it _is_ my fault he noticed you, Keith.  God, the things he would have done to you, would have made _me_ do to you so he wouldn’t do something worse, god fuck you’d never forgive me if you knew and you shouldn’t, you _shouldn’t_ forgive me because that was my fault it _was_ if you’d gotten hurt I’d never I’d never I wouldn’t--” He couldn’t say more around the sobs, and gentle hands were in his hair and rubbing down his back.

 

“I would have forgiven you.”

 

Fuck.

 

“And I would have known you were doing the best you could in a shitty situation.”

 

Goddamnit.

 

“And I would have been so, so grateful you weren’t there alone.”

 

And that was far too much for Shiro’s heart to hold onto.  He buried himself in Keith’s chest and wept.

 

~*~*~

 

His words seemed to have reached the human, but Keith wondered how much longer it would be until Shiro truly forgave himself.  He stroked his back until he fell asleep again, this time looking peaceful. Well, maybe not peaceful so much as not-in-pain. That was something.

 

Keith managed to sleep as well, though he woke up several times, and each time he was gratified to note that the human had remained in his arms, even when Shiro had rolled over.  His touch was not unwelcome.

 

Wait.  His touch was not unwelcome.  Did that mean Shiro had been feeling guilty before the nightmare, and _that_ was what had made him uncomfortable during the massage?  Maybe Keith didn’t need to be worried (and self conscious) about himself and his own feelings.  So long as Keith’s stupid crush-or-whatever-this-was didn’t interfere with Shiro’s health or their friendship, than he was fine with the situation.  Shiro came first, and, well Keith needed to practice getting his emotions under control anyway.

 

(Dimly, Keith was aware that learning patience in decision making and learning to ignore a crush were not equal things, but surely they were in the similar categories, right?  Right.)

 

Shiro stirred and made a sleepy snort.  Without a sun to keep track of time for him, Keith couldn’t say if it was still night, but he was fairly confident they could indulge in another few varga of sleep if they felt like it.  Hell, there was no reason they couldn’t sleep in as long as they wanted. Keith prepared to settle back into sleep when Shiro stirred again and rubbed at his eyes.

 

“Hey,” Shiro said, voice thick with sleep.  “You still awake?”

 

“No, I woke up a minute ago.  How are you feeling? You look like you slept better.”

 

“I did,” Shiro said with a small smile.  “Thank you.”

 

Keith didn’t know if Shiro was thanking him for asking or thanking him for something more, but either way his stomach fluttered and he hoped Shiro couldn’t see him blushing in the low light.

 

Shiro made no move to get up or roll over.  That probably meant he was content to stay positioned as they were, but Keith found himself nervously checking anyway.

 

“Is it okay if I keep holding you?” he asked.

 

“I’m not afraid when you touch me,” Shiro said.

 

That curled warmth into Keith’s chest, but then Shiro frowned.

 

“I phrased that wrong.  Keith, I’m not… It’s not just that it doesn’t scare me to have you touch me; _I’m not afraid_ when you touch me.”

 

The frown had not been for unhappiness.  His chest burned warmer.

 

“Do you want me to touch you?” Keith asked quietly.  He felt selfish because he _wanted_ to touch Shiro, but also he needed to know for Shiro’s sake.  He would do anything to help him.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro said softly, “yeah, I think I do.”

 

Keith carefully threaded his fingers through Shiro’s long, soft hair and massaged his scalp.  Shiro closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

 

“Where am I allowed to touch you?”  

 

That was a very important thing to clarify.  Shiro might not be afraid right now, but no doubt he had boundaries.

 

“Anywhere but down lower,” Shiro murmured, eyes still closed, “unless it’s for bandaging.”

 

“Okay.”  

 

That made sense.  It probably still hurt down there (physically and emotionally), and it would be extremely intimate even if it wasn't sexual.  Keith wouldn’t have done it anyway, but it was good to know.

 

“How do you want to touch me?” Shiro asked quietly.

 

Keith’s hand froze mid-stroke.  Shiro wasn't….He couldn’t be asking _that_ , could he?  Surely he didn’t know the extent to which Keith wanted those kinds of things!  Shit, maybe it was in his eyes when they spared or in his voice at night or fuck, maybe it was in his fingers _right now_.  

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Shiro said, his cheeks coated with just a hint of pink, “but if you want to, you can.  It won’t bother me.”

 

Keith swallowed hard and resumed massaging.  He wasn't brave enough for this conversation, but even if he didn’t answer the question, he felt like he should say _something_.

 

“H-how would you like me to touch you?”

 

There was a brief silence, and then--

 

“I want you to touch me in whatever way it is that you want to touch me.”

 

(That wasn't fair.)

 

(That really, really wasn't fair.)

 

“Okay,” was all Keith managed to say.  He kept combing through Shiro’s hair. What else was he supposed to do?  Shit, he felt like Shiro was evaluating and cataloging every movement of his fingers, reading Keith’s secrets but coming to the wrong conclusion.  Or, worse yet, maybe he knew what Keith wanted and knew that he wasn't brave enough to say it.

 

“I don’t…,” Keith’s voice faltered.  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Shiro’s eyes opened slowly and trained on his, something soft coming into the corner of his lips.

 

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

 

Shiro might be believe it, but that couldn’t be true.  It couldn’t. There was no way--Shiro didn’t know--Keith wanted-----

 

Keith wanted a thousand things, but what he wanted most was to tell Shiro that he thought he was strong, kind, and beautiful, and he only knew one way to make those feelings clear.  He found himself sliding his fingers to the nape of Shiro’s neck. The human waited for him to gather his courage.

 

“I think I want to kiss you,” Keith whispered, voice so hoarse he didn’t recognize it.

 

Shiro smiled, sweet and fond, and he slid his own hand behind Keith’s neck.  It was permission, and Keith knew it. There was the barest pressure on his neck as Shiro guided him closer, and then Keith pressed his lips against Shiro’s.

 

~*~*~

 

Distantly, Shiro wondered why he wasn't feeling conflicted.  He still didn’t want to have sexual feelings--especially not for Keith--but there was no shame or guilt in him as they exchanged gentle kisses.  Maybe it was because the kisses were chaste, pure affection without further intent, or maybe Keith’s forgiveness and reassurance had made that big a difference.  Either way, Keith’s lips were a haven that Shiro gladly fell into. They were sweet and hesitant. Perhaps Keith had not kissed before, or perhaps he was simply shy…?  He pulled Keith a little closer to ease any worries the half-Galra might have about Shiro’s interest, and that helped. Their kisses remained gentle, though they were now less hesitant, and they kissed for long enough that they had to break apart to breath. They rested their foreheads together.

 

“So that’s okay to do?” Keith asked, a shy smile in his voice.

 

Shiro lifted his head to kiss Keith’s forehead.  “It’s more than okay. I like kissing you.”

 

“I like kissing you, too,” Keith said with a happy hum.  

 

(Adorable.)

 

Keith cleared his throat.  “Hey, um, you’re male, right?” he asked, managing to avoid eye contact despite how close together they were.

 

(Less adorable, but very funny.)

 

“Yes, Keith, I am male,” Shiro said, trying not to laugh.  Keith had seen more than enough of him to know _that_.

 

“And Adam was--is--also male…?”

 

Oh.  So that’s what Keith was getting at.

 

“Yes, Adam is male, too.  Humans can and often do love people of the same gender.  I am attracted to men, but I would have been happy to kiss you anyway,” Shiro promised.  He doubted that Keith’s relieved expression could be taken as a full out confession, but it still felt nice to see. Whatever he and Keith had together--and they definitely did have something--was new territory for him, and it was probably new for Keith as well.  What mattered was they had been through hell together and they trusted each other. The other facets of their friendship didn’t need to be defined yet, but Keith did deserve to understand places their relationship could potentially go--especially since he was worried about it.

 

“Galra are like that, too,” Keith said.  He had gone back to playing with Shiro’s hair.

 

“And are you male?” Shiro asked, mostly because he liked to tease Keith.  He might have wondered about aliens and gender but had heard enough people use male pronouns for Keith to feel safe in his assumptions.  

 

“Yes, I’m male,” the half-Galra huffed, rolling his eyes.  “And I _like_ males, too,” he added.  It was a bit more of a confession than either of them expected him to make, and Keith blushed and looked away again.

 

“I’m glad,” Shiro said softly.  It was a bit of a confession of his own, and it made Keith smile, and that felt good.  

 

This...this was a good thing, right?  It was connection and affection and trust, and they both liked males, so this was...romantic?  But it wasn't sexual, or at least it wasn't for Shiro, and shouldn’t he be more surprised about all of this?!  Keith had asked to kiss him. That was a big deal. But...it was Keith. The whole thing was completely natural. Every step of their friendship had deepened before he’d realized it, and this felt like the next step in a path they’d been heading down since the day they met.  It was...unexpected. Unexpected, but not surprising, like it had been around the bend and he hadn’t seen it coming, but it made sense.

 

Keith wanted to kiss him.  

 

Shiro wanted to kiss him back.

 

Two facts, and both of them made sense, and it made Shiro smile.  Keith’s hand was still weaving through his hair and he reflected that Keith seemed to do that fairly often.  Perhaps he’d like it in return…? And wow, apparently he did, because mere seconds after Shiro started rubbing his scalp, Keith made a strange sound--

 

“Are you purring?” Shiro asked, trying to hide his shock, because holy _fuck_ that was cute.

 

“Feels nice,” Keith said, looking embarrassed.  

 

Shiro pressed his lips flat, willing his delighted smirk into submission.  “What part feels nice? I’ll keep doing it,” he offered.

 

“Behind my ears,” Keith mumbled, blushing and looking away.

 

 _Exactly_ like a cat.

 

Shiro had a sudden urge to scritch at the base of Keith’s spine to see if he would do the butt arch like cats do, too, and immediately realized that would be a significantly sexual pose for a human (or in this case, half-human) and banished the thought to the outer reaches of his mind.  

 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” Shiro managed in response, cheeks now equal in redness to Keith’s.  

 

Keith kept purring and eventually, apparently less self conscious, leaned further into the touch.  It was painfully adorable. Keith was ten kinds of lethal and all shades of adorable and yeah, Shiro probably _liked_ him.  Huh.

 

(And yet, he still wasn't freaking out about it.)

 

And suddenly, Shiro knew why--it’s because it was Keith.  He trusted Keith with his life and his body, but more than that, he trusted Keith to forgive him.  If he got this wrong, if he was reading too much into what a kiss meant to a Galra or if he was placing more stress on his heart than it could handle, Keith would forgive him.  He was safe. Even with this, he was safe with Keith, and that meant for now it was okay to simply enjoy that touch wasn't painful.  Whatever that meant for “them” was something they could figure out later.

 

~*~*~

 

It was too fragile to talk about it, whatever “it” was.  Or rather, that’s what Keith convinced himself when he failed to ask Shiro what their kissing and subsequent conversation had meant.  At the very least, _Shiro_ was fragile, and it wouldn’t be fair or even kind to try and sort things out at this stage.  It made Keith a little sad (and a lot anxious) not to _know_ , but he could wait. “Patience yields focus,” right?  Right.

 

And so, Keith had tried to go about their usual schedule, pretending it was an ordinary day, but the distraction of sparring helped less than usual--or rather, was the wrong kind of distracting--and it wasn't even time for lunch before Keith had run out of things to do.  He opted to read his tablet and, naturally, that made matters worse, because Shiro all but snuggled next to him, curious to know what he was reading.

 

“Checking out the planets on our route,” Keith explained.  “We don’t need to resupply yet, but I’m thinking we should stop at Ru.  It’s nearby and has a breathable atmosphere and drinkable water.”

 

“Is it warmer than Dekko?”

 

Keith grinned.  “Yeah, it’s a coat-free planet.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Shiro smiled.  “How long until we get there?”

 

“About two varga.”

 

“That’s it?” Shiro asked, face lighting up.  

 

Shiro looked so delighted that Keith felt guilty for not picking a planet to stop at sooner.  The Blades didn’t make unnecessary stops after all, but for Shiro, Keith would happily arrange some extra side trips.  

 

“Yup.  You want to do the landing?”

 

Shiro laughed.  “If you trust me.”

 

Keith smiled.  “I definitely trust you, Shiro.”

 

Shiro smiled back, and wasn't that just perfect.

 

~*~*~

 

Ru was pleasantly warm but unpleasantly muggy, and Shiro decided that from his limited exposure to planets, Earth remained at the top.  This did not, however, lessen his elation at finding himself on an honest-to-god _planet_ in the middle of space.  His cheeks hurt from how much he was grinning, humidity be damned.

 

“Someone’s awful happy to be rotating a fuel core,” Keith noted.  He was obviously not as thrilled to be planet-side as Shiro, but that was probably because he was the one doing most of the maintenance work.  Shiro handed him tools as needed but otherwise kept out of the way. “If I’d known you wanted to be a mechanic, I would have suggested we stop sooner.”

 

“I’m not a mechanic, and I have no idea what you’re doing,” Shiro said cheerfully.  As near as he could figure, rotating a fuel core was the space equivalent of changing the oil--normal maintenance needed every few hundred light years.  The ship wasn't due for it yet, but Keith wasn't taking chances with _Ricky_ , and so they had decided to take advantage of gravity and breathable air.

 

Keith merely snorted in reply, making Shiro chuckle.  He leaned back to soak up the sunlight. Space might be beautiful, but it was also dark.  Natural light was a rare treat that he intended to make full use of.

 

“Do Galra get sunburns?” Shiro asked.  Ship maintenance was sweaty work and Keith stripped to the waist.

 

Keith glanced up.  “What’s a sunburn?”

 

Shiro explained the phenomenon to an increasingly alarmed Keith and had to assure him multiple times that he was not in immediate danger.

 

“How do humans survive above ground?!” Keith all but demanded.

 

“We cover up if we need to, but if we’re outside a lot, our skin darkens and we don’t burn.  It takes a while to build up, though,” Shiro explained. “I used to get sunburns every summer.  My mother would scold me for running around without sunblock.” Shiro smiled at the memory. It was always bittersweet to think of his family, but here in the sunlight on a warm day, it was mostly sweet.

 

“What’s your family like?” Keith asked curiously.  

 

“My parents died when I was ten, so I was raised by my grandfather.  He died a few years ago, and I’m on my own now,” Shiro said, bracing for sympathy.  “They were all wonderful people. I miss them.”

 

Thankfully, Keith only nodded.

 

“I just have my mother,” he said.  “I miss her, too.”

 

“What about your father?  Is he still on Earth?” Shiro asked.  

 

Keith shrugged.  “Probably. He didn’t leave when my mom did, at least.”  He paused thoughtfully. “I guess I could try to find him when we get to Earth.”

 

“I’ll help you look for him, if you want,” Shiro offered.  Keith seemed indifferent to the idea, but Shiro suspected he’d end up wanting to look, for his mother’s sake if not for his own.  He had no idea how they’d search, though. He envisioned putting up posters that read “Wanted: man who had sex with alien 20 years ago” and tried not to laugh.

 

“Thanks.  I’ll think about it,” Keith said honestly.  He stood and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.  “Finished.”

 

Shiro cocked his eyebrow at the way Keith’s bangs stuck to his forehead.  “Do you want to take a shower before we head to town?”

 

Keith glanced down at his chest, covered in sweat and fuel core grime, and then grinned.  

 

“How do you feel about going for a swim?” he said.

 

~*~*~

 

It was a five minute to flight the nearest lake.  Keith was apparently quite fond of swimming as the second they landed he was shucking off the remainder of his clothes and dashing to the water, laughing as he went.  He also apparently preferred to skinny dip because by the time he reached the lake, he was bare as the day he was born. Shiro briefly recalled Keith referring to his ass as “perfect” and he looked away before he could determine if he agreed.

 

“Hey old man!” Keith called, still laughing.  “Stop being slow and get in here! The water’s great!”

 

Shiro shook his head and strolled to the beach with their towels, picking up Keith’s clothes as he went.  He folded them neatly before adding his own to the pile and following Keith into the water.

 

“So do you hate all forms of fun or just swimming?” Keith grinned.

 

“I hate everything.  That’s what happens when you become an old man,” Shiro said, splashing water in Keith’s direction.  The half-Galra yelped in mock fear and dove under the water. Shiro chuckled. So much for Keith being a cat.  Well, he could still be a tiger--tigers loved water.

 

Shiro watched in amusement as Keith, still underwater, swam closer.  The water was far too clear for Keith to think he was being sneaky, but he reached for Shiro’s ankle to dunk him anyway.  Shiro laughed and went with it.

 

“Stop spacing out and start having fun, old man,” Keith said when they surfaced.

 

“Maybe I’m enjoying watch you goof off like an idiot,” Shiro suggested.

 

“You need better hobbies.”

 

“Like racing?  I bet this old man can beat you to that island,” Shiro grinned.

 

“You’re on,” Keith said, diving away before Shiro could say ‘go’.  

 

They spent the better part of an hour splashing and swimming before Keith suggested they head into town.  Shiro was reluctant to agree--until Keith pointed out town would mean fresh food.

 

“Eating something that didn’t come from a bag?  You’ve found the way to my heart,” Shiro teased.

 

Keith looked surprised and then looked away, blushing.

 

Oh.  He hadn’t meant anything by it, but that was a great reaction, and Shiro felt pleased with himself for his successful though accidental flirting.  Although, come to think of it, this was their standard teasing, wasn't it? How long had he been flirting with Keith, and did it still count as flirting if he hadn’t consciously intended to do it?  Because wow, he’d definitely been flirting with Keith, and that was something he should _really_ either stop doing or act on, and he had a pretty good idea which.  Annnnnd now he’d been staring at the blushing half-Galra for far too long.  

 

“So, um, you ready?” Keith asked, tucking a wet strand of hair behind his ear.

 

Shiro smiled.

 

“You know what?  I think I am.”

 

~*~*~

 

Ru was a quiet, friendly planet and shopping for supplies didn’t take long.  Keith did what he could to fish around casually for updates on the arena prison escape and learned that there were rumors about the situation, but nothing definite.  He wasn't sure if that was reassuring, but at least it meant that non-bounty hunters wouldn’t be wary of them. Loaded up with supplies and food, they began their trek back to _Ricky_.

 

Keith declined to be nervous.  In fact, he was very insistent with himself that he not be nervous because that would be ridiculous, and Keith was not ridiculous.  But it was so hard to look at Shiro, and it was so hard _not_ to look at him!  He was beautiful all the time, but holy shit he was gorgeous when he was flushed and happy and covered in water and sun.  

 

(And Keith had kissed this man.)

 

What did it mean when Shiro said he’d liked kissing Keith?  Because that was 100% wonderful but Shiro said he liked men and also that he would have kissed Keith anyway, so maybe kissing didn’t mean much to humans, or maybe it meant he liked Keith so much that other things didn’t matter, and Keith could absolutely not ask about these things.  

 

Also, Shiro had definitely checked him out while they were swimming.

 

Twice.

 

(And no, Keith was _not_ nervous.)

 

Not even a little.  

 

~*~*~

 

They’d gotten back to the ship and were having supper on the roof, enjoying the late afternoon sun, and Keith had spent significantly more time glancing at Shiro than eating.  He was clearly nervous, and it was cute. Shiro should probably do the kind thing and put Keith out of his misery.

 

“I had a great time today,” Shiro said.  “Thank you for taking me swimming and for getting me real food.  It was a perfect date.”

 

Keith gulped down his bite of food midchew and coughed.  

 

“You’re welcome,” he croaked.  “Did uh, did you call this a ‘date’?”

 

“Was it not one?”  Shiro asked. He knew it hadn’t been intended as one, but by god was it fun to tease Keith over this.

 

“Um, well, I wanted you to have fun,” Keith said, knee bouncing rapidly and left ear twitching, “and I guess I did get you food, but I would have, um, I would have done _more_ if this was courting.  If you wanted it to be courting, that is,” he added hastily.  

 

(Way too fucking cute.)

 

Shiro set down his food and turned to face Keith.

 

“Did you want it to be courting?” Shiro asked.  “I don’t know what kissing means to Galra, but it’s not something humans do without reason.  It’s something that happens between couples.”

 

“It’s like that for Galra, too,” Keith said, knee still bouncing. “And, uh, I would like kissing and stuff to mean courting I think,  _butIdon’twanttomakeyouuncomfortable_ ,” he finished in a rush.

 

Shiro’s heart clenched with almost painful tenderness.  Keith was perfect.

 

“I’m a mess right now, and I can’t offer much, but...I like this.  I don’t know if you consider it courting, but I like what we’ve been doing,” Shiro said, reaching for Keith’s hand and squeezing it gently.  “I’d like more of this.”

 

Keith squeezed his hand back and bit his lip.  “I like this, too.”

 

“More of this sounds perfect,” Shiro said, and when he leaned in to kiss Keith, he was met halfway by happy lips.

 

Perfect.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massage is fucking fascinating. The way muscles connect and stuff? Fas-cin-a-ting.
> 
> So, one thing I didn’t really know how to get across: when Shiro said that nothing Keith could do would make him uncomfortable, that didn’t mean that there wasn't anything that *could* make him uncomfortable so much as he trusted Keith not to do any of those things. I hope that makes sense. 
> 
> Keith wasn't trying to make a statement about “male versus man” or something about gender, btw. He was trying to say “I like penises and I have one so I hope you also like penises” lmao. He’s just an awkward fluff ball.
> 
> Mer!Keef was also shocked by sunburns. Might be lazy to reuse it, but I think other species freaking out about stuff like that is hilarious. XD Imagine not knowing about goosebumps or sneezing or stomach growling. 
> 
> I’m sad this version of Shiro isn’t much a disaster gay, lol. Keith is a bit of a disaster, though, so hopefully that helps make up for it. <3 
> 
> Next chapter they will get more physically involved, if-you-know-what-I-mean, *wink wink*. Not sure yet if I will work on that or more Shiro the Hero first. It kind of depends on how angry I am at DreamWorks at any given moment, lol!!! Bitches.
> 
> (Whhhy did I decide to giant chapters for Never?! I wanted to experiment and see, and well, well, I hate it. Good to know, lmao.)


	5. The Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a great deal of love and healing, and also some sex. :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: rape mention, near panic attack.

If kissing Shiro when it had been for comfort and affection was nerve-racking, it was nothing compared to kissing him because they _liked_ each other, and that was somehow unfair.  They’d left Ru behind, neither of them feeling like spending a night on a planet unless necessary, and were now cuddled on their bed, kissing, and it should have been amazing.  Unfortunately, Keith’s nerves were bad enough that Shiro noticed.

 

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, because he was ridiculously kind and far too observant.  He rubbed his thumb across Keith’s cheek.

 

“No, no that’s not it,” Keith hurriedly assured him.  “I’m just...not sure what I’m doing.” It was a stupid thing to be nervous about because it’s not like Shiro would mind, but Keith hated not to be good at something, and this was something he _really_ wanted to be good at.  

 

Shiro smiled.  “Then it’s a good thing that practising is half the fun.  I’ll teach you what I like, and then we can learn what you like together, okay?”

 

(Dear god this man was perfect.)

 

Keith nodded and mumbled “okay” into Shiro’s collarbone which prompted a chuckle from the human.  Shiro cupped his cheek and guided him back into a kiss, and wow--Keith had not realized it before, but Shiro had definitely not been the one in control until this moment.  Before their kisses had been soft and exploring, but now? Now Shiro was firm and insistent, taking what he wanted from Keith’s lips. Shiro pulled back and kissed down Keith’s jaw before whispering “open your mouth” and that was something entirely new altogether, because Shiro was _licking_ into Keith’s mouth.

 

Keith made a startled noise at the intrusion and it spurred a further chuckle from Shiro who once again pulled back.

 

“Do it to me,” he urged, and Keith eagerly did.  

 

He had to bite back a moan as Shiro _sucked_ on his tongue.  Keith’d had no idea kissing could involve so much and he wanted more.  He clung tighter to Shiro and put force into the kiss, and Shiro returned it all and then some.  Shiro’s eyes were bright when they pulled apart to breathe.

 

“Knew you’d be good at this,” Shiro said.  “Do you like it?”

 

Keith nodded fervently.  He liked it a lot--maybe too much.  He was growing hard and he knew _that_ wasn't going to be a part of their evening.  They’d moved closer and weren’t quite flush together, but the distance between them was miniscule.  He’d have to be careful not to move his hips even though he wanted to. Fuck, he _really_ wanted to.  Even just to rub against Shiro’s thigh would be amazing.  He blushed dark and pushed away the thoughts. Kissing was more than enough for now.  

 

Shiro’s hands wove into his hair and pulled the two of them back together, lips meeting and parting again.  Keith had never had an opportunity to witness extended kissing--not that he would have been particularly interested if he had--and he’d only known of it as something sweet.  He had no idea it could lead to more, could _demand_ it.  Shiro’s tongue was back in his mouth and he whimpered as it swiped across his own.  He tried to chase the feeling, pressing closer and--

 

Keith sprang back, eyes wide.  “S-sorry--I didn’t mean--we can stop--I’m sorry,” he babbled, pushing himself against the wall to give Shiro as much space as possible.

 

For his part, Shiro just looked confused.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.  

 

Keith’s face was burning now.  He’d rubbed himself against Shiro _who hadn’t even noticed_ , and now he had to explain himself and apologize.  Wonderful.

 

“I got...carried away,” Keith said lamely.  

 

“Keith, it’s fine,” Shiro smiled.  “I’m glad you were enjoying yourself.  Did you not--oh.” He must have noticed Keith’s erection.  

 

(If Keith could just be expelled directly into space, that would be great.)

 

“I’ll go take care of it,” Keith mumbled, rising to go to their bathroom.

 

“Keith,” Shiro said, reaching for him.  “It’s okay. Really. It’s _fine_.  If you want to deal with it yourself, you can, but you don’t need to leave because of me.  You can stay here.”

 

Keith paused.  That was powerful information to digest.  

 

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, shyer and more hopeful than he meant to.

 

“I do,” Shiro said softly.  “Can I help you with it? Is that okay?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Keith tucked his thumbs into his sleep pants and tugged them off before he could let himself overthink it.  He stepped out of them, naked from the waist down. Shiro’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, no doubt not expecting Keith to go from fleeing to stripping in the course of two ticks, but his surprise melted into something warm and appreciative.  He flipped back the corner of the blankets.

 

“Come to bed,” he said, sounding welcoming and...shy?  

 

(Surely not.  There was no way Shiro could feel shy about this and _Keith_.)

 

Keith slipped back into the bed, his heart pounding.  He had no idea how much was going to happen next, but he knew he wanted it and that he wanted it with Shiro.  No--he needed it. He hadn’t known that want _could_ turn into need, but god, he needed more.

 

“Can I take your shirt off?” Shiro asked, and in lieu of answering Keith wriggled out of the garment himself.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Shiro said in quiet awe, tracing a collarbone with his finger.  “Where can I touch you?”

 

“Anywhere,” Keith breathed, too embarrassed to ask for certain places.  

 

Shiro’s fingers slipped lower and smoothed over his chest.  “Gorgeous,” Shiro said again, so quietly he might have been speaking to himself.  His fingers paused on their descent to rub over a nipple and Keith gasped.

 

“Sometime, I’d like to play with these,” Shiro said, taking the other nipple and rolling it between his fingers, “but maybe that’s too much for right now.”

 

Somehow, Keith’s mind hadn’t conceived of a concrete “more later” option, and the idea sent him to new heights.  Shiro wanted to _play_ with his body, and holy fuck Keith wanted to let him.  Right now though, Shiro’s hand was traveling south and Keith was not about to stop its progress.

 

“Lovely,” Shiro said, kissing Keith’s cheek and brushing his fingers up Keith’s cock.  “You’re lovely.”

 

“D-do I look different?” Keith asked, trembling under the light touch.  It wasn't a time for conversation, but dear god did Keith need to be distracted from the intensity of these feelings.  

 

“From me?  A little. Yours looks human, if that’s what you’re wondering.  Other than being purple,” Shiro added with a chuckle. He closed his hand around Keith’s cock and gave it a tug.

 

“Y-yeah, I’ve always been--ah!--curious,” Keith gasped.  He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. It was too good.  Shiro had only barely started, but it was so fucking good to be stroked, sure and steady, by his large, warm hand as feather-light kisses were pressed to his cheeks and forehead.  He turned his head to capture the kisses with his lips instead but found himself constantly interrupted by his own gasps and whimpers as Shiro began to twist his wrist when he pulled.  He was pumping his hips by instinct before he could stop himself.

 

“That’s it, sweetheart.  Use my hand,” Shiro murmured.

 

Keith whined and pumped harder.  “Shiro,” he gasped, gripping the human’s arm.

 

“Perfect, baby, you’re perfect.  Let me see you come,” Shiro encouraged softly.

 

Keith bit his hand as he came, stifling the cry that threatened to spill out, too embarrassed to be as loud as his pleasure demanded.  He shuddered in Shiro’s embrace, hips still pumping as he finished.

 

Shiro covered his face in kisses before pulling off his own shirt and wiping them clean.  

 

“I’m going to take care of myself,” he said, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead before getting up.  “I’ll be back to hold you again in a minute.”

 

Keith could only nod mutely and offer a dopey grin as the human tucked the covers around him and left for the toilet closet.  

 

~*~*~

 

Shiro had nearly put a stop to the whole thing when Keith had shuffled away, panicked.  He’d felt Keith rubbing against him of course and had been thrilled that the half-Galra was enjoying himself, but then he’d sprung away like he’d touched live coals.  Maybe it was all too much, too soon for the both of them. But, Keith wanted more, and Shiro could provide it. Sure, as the one with more experience he needed to be the guide (and Keith was shy about everything to begin with), but it was important to reassure Keith that he _was_ wanted.  He was on constant alert when it came to touching Shiro and while he appreciated it, Shiro felt it was past time to let Keith know just how comfortable with him he really was.  And so, when Keith had been hopeful that he’d be allowed to stay, Shiro could do nothing but gladly welcome him back.

 

And then Keith had stripped immediately and, hello, maybe Shiro was interested in sex after all.  

 

From there it had been game on--for everything except Shiro’s cock.  It hadn’t gotten hard, and Shiro was trying not to be worried about it.  

 

He’d loved seeing Keith, touching him, hearing the exquisite sounds he made and watching his expression change.  He’d forgotten how exciting and overwhelming sex had been the first time he’d done things, and getting to be the one to give that pleasure to Keith?  Utter heaven. He was already itching to teach him what delightful mischief a mouth could do and just what trouble determined fingers could get up to.  But, his cock was soft, entirely divorced from the proceedings.

 

Just fucking perfect.  

 

His immediate concern had been that Keith would notice and worry it was his fault, and now that he was safely hidden, he began to wonder if there was something physically wrong with him.  Sure, he had barrels of psychological trauma to sort through, but Sendak had not been...gentle. With anything. What if something had gotten damaged beyond surface wounds and bruises?

 

Grimacing, Shiro took himself in hand and began to rub.  

 

It was nice.  Ish.

 

Shiro closed his eyes and let his mind wander over the past few minutes with Keith.  He had been so perfect. Shy but eager, soft but firm, and so fucking hot. He would have found Keith’s body and cock sexy anyway, but the purple skin was really starting to do it for him.  He got a little harder.

 

Keith had actually _whimpered_ and it was the best sound Shiro had ever heard.  He’d always enjoyed a vocal partner, and he had a feeling once Keith was more confident, he would be a veritable fountain of moans.  Shiro could almost hear him already, begging and cursing and crying his name, groaning for more and--

 

This still wasn't working.

 

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” he growled, pumping faster.  He thought about Keith’s face as he came, the way his back had arched, how lovely his cum had looked splattered against his skin.  He thought of Keith’s tongue in his mouth, of Keith’s mouth on his cock, of fingers and cum and nothing at all. His cock remained only half-interested.  

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said angrily, fist hitting the wall.

 

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice came through the door along with a gentle knock.

 

Shiro briefly considered telling Keith that that was just what he sounded like when he came, but ultimately didn’t like the thought of lying to him--especially not after what they’d just done together.  He opened the door.

 

“I’m okay, Keith,” he said.  “Just frustrated.”

 

Keith looked up at him, violet eyes searching.  Carefully, he leaned forward and threaded his arms around Shiro, head resting on his chest.  “Come back to bed,” he said quietly.

 

Shiro let himself be guided back to their nest of blankets.

 

“Was that your first time doing something like this with someone else?” Shiro asked.  He was pretty confident of the answer, but right now was a time for clarity and certainty.

 

“Yes,” Keith said, still quiet.

 

“You were beautiful.  You were so perfect for me and I loved looking at you.  I want you to know it’s not your fault I didn’t… Well. It’s not your fault.  It’s just the way I am right now,” Shiro said. He stared at the ceiling, knowing he should look at Keith but feeling unexpectedly weak.  

 

Soft ears tickled his chin as Keith curled around him, head resting on his chest.  “It’s the same for you too, you know,” he said. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for or that makes you uncomfortable.”

 

Fuck.

 

He closed his eyes and threaded one hand through Keith’s soft hair.  

 

“I’d rather have as much as I can than nothing at all,” he whispered.  He massaged Keith’s scalp, working his way behind one ear and rubbing at the spot he knew the half-Galra loved.  “Is that alright?”

 

“Rubbing my ear is playing dirty,” Keith said, pouting a little but also purring.  “But yeah. That’s alright.”

 

Shiro couldn’t help smiling, and he pulled Keith closer to insure they were flush against each other.  “Thank you for letting me touch you,” he said.

 

“No, thank _you_ ,” Keith insisted, still purring.  “It was fun.”

 

“I’m glad,” Shiro chuckled.  He mused to himself how odd it was that just the day before he’d been dead set against developing sexual feelings, and now that he couldn’t act on them, he found that he wanted to.  His timing in life was just fucking excellent.

 

(But having a purring half-Galra on his chest made it better.)

 

Keith fell asleep long before Shiro did, and if the half-Galra was heavy or snored or drooled, Shiro didn’t mind at all.

 

~*~*~

 

Shiro hadn’t been able to finish.  Intellectually, Keith knew it wasn't his fault.  Emotionally, he knew Shiro wouldn’t have been frustrated in the first place if Keith hadn’t pushed them into going further than kissing, and he was fully prepared to wallow in guilt.  Alas for his self pity, the human cut off the opportunity to wallow the very next morning after breakfast by requesting they talk things over.

 

“I don’t want to keep rehashing things we’ve already decided, but last night was emotional for both of us, and I want to make sure we’re still on the same page,” Shiro said, because he was an adult and not a sulky kit like Keith.  

 

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Keith asked, knowing already the answer was ‘no’.

 

“Help me...get hard?” Shiro asked, suddenly awkward.

 

Keith blinked.  He’d thought that Shiro couldn’t finish, not that he’d been unable to get aroused, and that hadn’t been what he’d meant in the first place by ‘helping’.  “Um,” was all he managed.

 

There was a moment of silence before Shiro laughed.

 

“Okay, starting over.  I was very interested last night, but physically, I didn’t respond.  I don’t know if that’s my mind’s fault or my body or both, but I really like you and I thought everything we did was amazing.  I still want to keep doing things like that. Is that okay?”

 

“It’s okay if it doesn’t hurt you,” Keith said, “but I’m worried that it will.  I know you said you’d rather have half than nothing, and I want that, too, but not at your expense.”  There. That was stuff adults said.

 

(And he meant it, too.)

 

“I’m going to get frustrated again if it keeps happening.  It won’t be your fault and I won’t blame you, but I might get angry about the situation.  Is that something you can handle? I don’t want you to get hurt everytime we kiss or touch,” Shiro said, looking pained.

 

“Shiro,” Keith said, raising his chin, “I didn’t quit in the arena.  What makes you think I’ll give up on something I actually _want_?”  He reached out and gripped the back of Shiro’s neck possessively.  “You’re mine,” he said with a growl. “You’re mine until _you_ decide otherwise, so you better get used to having me around.”

 

Shiro blushed and blinked twice before a sly grin formed on his lips.  

 

“I can work with that,” he said.

 

“Good,” Keith said, nodding sharply, and he pushed himself over his laughing human to put to practice the things his tongue had learned the night before.

 

~*~*~

 

Over next week they fell into a pleasant pattern.  It was easy to find excuses to kiss, and Shiro indulged in every opportunity.  Keith soaked up everything Shiro gave him, and if he was being honest, Shiro was addicted to the affection--both giving and receiving.  Every night cycle found them kissing, sometimes soft and lazy, sometimes heavy and urgent. Shiro quickly realized Keith was reluctant to ask for more, so he initiated touch whenever he tasted the need on Keith’s lips.  Keith was beautiful. Shiro loved the sight of him. He would have loved to take the half-Galra apart for hours, but he knew that would end with Keith feeling guilty for accepting so much when he couldn’t return it, so he didn’t draw out Keith’s pleasure.  Instead, he murmured praises and told him just how good it felt to watch.

 

Afterward, Shiro would attempt to take care of himself in private.  It didn’t work. He did get harder for longer now, but in a way that was more frustrating.  Even if they didn’t have _sex_ , he wanted to be able to offer more to Keith.  Keith deserved it. It weighed on his mind so heavily that it took the excitement of their next planet visit to pull him out of his own head.

 

“We’re really visiting another planet already?” he asked, trying not to sound too much like a kid in a candy shop.

 

“It’s not a _planet_ ,” Keith stressed.  “It’s a port built inside of what used to be a planet.  It will be shady shops and not much else, and it will be very boring.  And yes, it’s early, but we should visit because I have a contact there.”

 

By the time they got in orbiting range, it was almost night on the side of the port that Keith wanted to visit, which meant a debate of whether to stay in space until morning or try their luck at reaching the contact immediately.   In the end, space was the safer option.

 

“No need to take risks we don’t need to,” Shiro said, wistfully staring out the window at the planetary remains below them.  He continued to stare out the window until Keith began to pelt him with food packets.

 

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Shiro laughed.  “I’ll stop sulking and come to bed.”

 

“You know, you’re supposed to be the responsible one of the two of us,” Keith reminded him, scooting to his side of their mattress.

 

“I don’t recall agreeing to that,” Shiro said mildly as he flopped down next to him.

 

“Memory going already?” Keith said with gentle pity.  “Poor old man.” He kissed Shiro on the nose. “It’s a good thing you have me to look after you.”

 

“Hmm, sounds like I got pretty lucky,” Shiro grinned.  He chased down Keith’s lips and sighed happily into their kiss.  When he pulled back, there was something almost distant in Keith’s face.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

 

Keith shook his head.  “Nothing. Kayuh is more dangerous than the other places we’ve been to, and you’re so fucking important to me; I suddenly got worried that I wouldn’t be able to protect you.  Like I said, I’m looking after you, right?” he said, stroking Shiro’s hair.

 

“Well, I need all the help I can get, but don’t forget I’m looking after you, too,” Shiro promised, turning to kiss Keith’s hand.   

 

“I know,” Keith smiled.  “Now shut up and kiss me.”

 

“Demanding punk,” Shiro laughed.  

 

“What?  I’m stressed.  You’re supposed to make me feel better,” Keith said innocently.  

 

“Demanding punk,” Shiro repeated, still laughing.  

 

“So shut me up,” Keith challenged.  

 

Shiro crowded over him, tangling his hands in Keith’s hair to tug him back and expose his throat.  Keith gapsed first in surprise and then with want as Shiro kissed down his neck and sucked at his collar bone.  He pressed his thigh between Keith’s legs for him to rut into, and the half-Galra responded immediately.

 

“Don’t worry about anything,” Shiro murmured, brushing his lips over the sensitive spot behind Keith’s ear.  “You’re with me right now. Just feel.”

 

Keith whined and gripped Shiro’s back, holding him closer as he rubbed his quickly hardening length against him.  

 

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged.  

 

This was new.  Shiro hadn’t been keen to be in positions where Keith could feel that Shiro hadn’t gotten fully erect, but he wanted the closeness and protectiveness of being over him.  Keith certainly seemed to appreciate it, and he especially appreciated Shiro’s hand coming to his hip and guiding him to thrust more firmly.

 

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith breathed, turning the name into a prayer.

 

“Gonna play with you tonight, sweetheart,” Shiro promised, rubbing his thigh into Keith’s crotch.  “Gonna find the places that make you come undone.”

 

Keith groaned and his head rolled to the side.  “Please. Please, do it, Shiro.”

 

There was an awkward scramble to remove clothes--Keith naked as usual and Shiro removing his shirt--and they crashed back together, kissing sloppy and hard.  Shiro was vaguely aware this was the opposite of playing with Keith, considering they were ramping each other up rather than teasing out minute pleasures. He found it hard to care with Keith sucking desperately at his tongue and scrambling to get a better hold on his back.  He could always take his time during a second round.

 

“Keith,” Shiro gasped, in between kisses, “you gotta let my mouth go if you want me to use it somewhere else.”

 

“Then stop kissing so good,” Keith countered, darting his tongue into Shiro’s mouth.

 

“You fucking punk,” Shiro laughed when he could finally pull back again.  

 

Keith smirked up at him.  “It’s your own fau--ahh! Oh _fuck_.”

 

Now it was Shiro who smirked, fully satisfied that tugging at Keith’s nipples had interrupted his sassing.  He ducked his head down to begin his assault, worrying the hardened bud with his tongue and teeth. He rolled the other one with his human hand and tightened his hold on Keith’s hip with his Galra one, and he settled between Keith’s legs.  Keith helplessly bucked up against him, held down by Shiro’s weight.

 

“Shi-ro,” Keith whined.  “That’s not fair.”

 

Shiro hummed, unapologetic, but rubbed his thumb in the hollow of Keith’s hip in a soothing gesture.  He sucked harder before popping off the nipple. “Don’t tell me you’re not having fun,” he teased, flicking the darkened bud with his tongue.

 

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” Keith said, squirming without success.  

 

Chuckling, Shiro resumed his work, enjoying the series of panting whines and whimpers Keith let out.  He would gladly paint Keith’s entire body with his tongue if it meant he kept up those perfect sounds.  

 

A particularly sharp nip of his teeth sent Keith’s hips bucking again.  “Shi-ro,” he cried. “Shiro, I gotta--shit--I gotta move.”

 

“You can in a minute, sweetheart.  I’m not quite done here yet,” Shiro smiled, giving his chest a light kiss.  “You look so pretty, your little nipples all swollen up for me.”

 

“N-no, I mean, I gotta change position.  Y-you can--ah!--keep doing what you’re doing.”

 

It was embarrassing that Shiro had assumed that Keith’s movements were entirely based off of restlessly pleasure, and he hoisted his weight to his elbows immediately.

 

“Ah, um, sorry if I was squishing you,” he said, flushing.  “I’ll get off you.”

 

“No, it’s my bad,” Keith said, squirming again.  “Started to think about things so I’m getting uncomfortable.”

 

Shiro froze.  “Uncomfortable with sex?”

 

“No, not like that,” Keith said, rolling his eyes.  “You’re sweet to worry, but it’s the other kind of uncomfortable.”

 

“The...other kind…?”

 

“You know.  When you think of things, and you get, uh, wetter,” Keith said, blushing.  

 

“Wetter where?” Shiro asked, baffled.  Dicks dripped precum, of course, but that wasn't uncomfortable for humans and Keith had never seemed bothered before.

 

“Down...there,” Keith said helplessly.  “The hole? In your ass? You have one,” he added, accusatory.  “I helped you bandage it.”

 

“Keith, humans don’t get wet there, aroused or not,” Shiro said, trying not to laugh at Keith’s scowl.  “Female humans have vaginas, and those--”

 

“I know what vaginas are,” Keith said, scowling harder.  “Don’t human men have sex with their assholes?”

 

“They do, but usually they get an oil or other lubricant to help them,” Shiro said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

 

Keith stared at him in disbelief.  “But you have _sex_ there.  You put stuff in your asses, right?  Penises or fingers or whatever? Why _wouldn’t_ it get wet?!” he demanded, as if Shiro had personally tinkered with humankind’s biology to make sex more difficult on purpose.

 

“I’m sorry; that’s just how it works,” Shiro laughed.  “I promise it’s worth the effort.”

 

“Huh,” was all Keith said, clearly not fully convinced.  “Well, whatever. I’m wet, so I had to move.”

 

“What were you thinking about that made you wet?” Shiro asked, smirking a little before something alarmed occurred to him.  “Wait, why didn’t you get wet before?”  Keith had certainly been aroused before, but perhaps Shiro had not been doing as well as he'd thought.

 

Keith immediately sank back into embarrassment.  “Uh, well, I get hard anytime I’m aroused, but I only get wet if I think about stuff happening to me...internally.”

 

 _Very_ interesting.  “So what were you thinking about?” Shiro repeated.

 

Keith mumbled something and hid in his hands and had to be prodded and kissed and coaxed before he admitted: “Your fingers in me.”

 

“Fuck, baby, you want that?” Shiro asked, breathless.  He’d been afraid to hope Keith would want this much from him before he could reciprocate in turn.  

 

Keith peeked up at him from between his fingers.  “....would you be okay with that?”

 

“ _God_ , yes.  I’d love to,” Shiro promised.  He settled back onto his knees between Keith’s legs.  “Here, put your legs over mine.”

 

And blushing, Keith did.

 

~*~*~

 

It was almost too embarrassing to comply with Shiro instructions.  It meant he was spreading himself so intimately before Shiro’s eyes, but god--his hands were so gentle and his expression so focused.  Here in this moment, he was the only thing on Shiro’s mind. It was a heady realization, and he spread his legs just a little wider to watch those steel eyes grow hungry.  

 

Shiro _wanted_ him.  

 

As always, Keith felt a little guilty to elicit and even courage Shiro’s desire, but they both wanted as much as they could have, and even this much was incredible.  Keith also felt a little guilty because his initial fantasy had been for something thicker and more satisfying than fingers, but the moment the idea had popped up, he switched it out for a tamer option.  Somehow, imaging _that_ far felt inappropriate.  

 

“God, baby, your hole is so cute,” Shiro murmured in praise.  He took Keith’s ass in his hands and spread his cheeks a little wider.  “You’ll have to tell me how you like things. We might be different down here.”

 

Oh fuck.  That was an entirely new layer of embarrassing.  “Just, um try what you like?” Keith offered.

 

Shiro nodded and pressed one finger to his hole, pushing lightly but not yet trying to enter.  “Fuck, you really did get wet for me,” he said in awe, spreading the slick that had started to seep free.  

 

“Wouldn’t lie about that,” Keith mumbled turning his head into the pillow.  Too fucking embarrassing.

 

Shiro chuckled.  “Okay, I’m going in now.”  

 

(Keith could have done without the narration.)  

 

But oh--that slow breach was so _good_.  He couldn’t help the low groan pulled from his chest.  Fuck. He’d fingered himself before but this was ridiculously better, and Shiro hadn’t even _done_ anything yet.  Maybe he just liked that it was someone else’s fingers.  Maybe he just liked that it was Shiro.

 

“You feel about the same as me,” Shiro said.  His finger was exploring (once again: embarrassing) and he was clearly curious.  Keith could tell he was enjoying himself.

 

“Are these the glands that make you wet?” Shiro guessed, rubbing at two bumps halfway up his chamber.  

 

“Yes,” Keith groaned.  “They’re sensitive.”

 

“Good sensitive or bad?” Shiro asked, pausing.

 

“V-very good.”

 

Shiro hummed his approval and kept exploring.  “Right around here is where my prostate is,” he said.  “Do you have o--”

 

“Fuck!” Keith cried, arching his back.  “Yeah--whatever the fuck that is. Yeah, I have that.   _Fuck_.”

 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Shiro said in awe.  “I am going to make you so loud. You are going to come so hard for me.”

 

“Shit,” Keith whimpered, flinging his arm over his eyes.  He bit his lip in a futile effort to stay quiet, groaning again as a second finger crowded in.  

 

So this was sex-- _real_ sex, or close to it.  It was a bit uncomfortable and a hella ton embarrassing, but holy shit was it worth it.  It was intensely intimate and Keith couldn’t believe that he’d ever considered doing it casually.  He never wanted anyone else to touch him the way Shiro was.  Maybe it was the Galra in him, but Shiro was _his_ and that meant he desperately wanted to be Shiro’s, too, and holy fuck the way Shiro’s fingers moved--he was definitely being claimed.  Just from a tiny intrusion he was being transformed, turned to molten lead and lightning, and he was dying for more.

 

“Shiro, _please_ ,” he gasped, bucking back onto his pumping fingers.  It couldn’t have been a dobosh yet and he already needed to come.

 

“Is this good?” Shiro asked, like he didn’t fucking know, but Keith could only nod breathless affirmation.  The pressure and drag of his fingers was everything Keith had never been able to accomplish on his own.

 

“Shiro--ah!--please make me, oh _fuck_ , make me come,” Keith begged.  

 

“So soon, baby?” Shiro asked, slowing his thrusting and spreading his fingers, swirling his wrist so he rubbed across as well as down.  

 

Keith whimpered and thrust his hips back, desperate to go faster. “Please--shit!--it’s too good. Sorry, please oh _fuck_ , god please, _harder_ please.”

 

“Don’t apologize for feeling good,” Shiro murmured, leaning down to kiss Keith’s chest.  “I want to make you feel good. Just relax for me and take it.”

 

Shiro grasped Keith’s dripping cock and began to pump, keeping it in time with his thrusting fingers and Keith’s hands scrambled in the sheets.  His eyes were wet and his chest was heaving and fuck it was all so good, too fucking good, it was too much, he couldn’t handle the rising need, he couldn’t--

 

Keith came with a gasping cry, arching his back and shooting high on his chest.  He collapsed on the mattress, weak, panting Shiro’s name. He was hazy with his rush, and he wondered if he could blame it on the orgasm that he desperately wanted to tell Shiro he loved him.

 

And fuck--the human looked like a sex god, sitting in the soft light of the ship.  Every curve of his muscles was faintly highlighted and all of his body was focused on Keith, soothing him down from his high with practiced, confident hands and gentle eyes.

 

“Beautiful, so beautiful,” Shiro said.  He licked his fingers clean and it was the final straw: Keith could not handle fucking handle how fucking hot he was.

 

He groaned and hid his face in his hands.  “Is there such a thing as being a sex wimp?” he asked.

 

Shiro chuckled and kissed his hands.  “There’s such a thing as being an overwhelmed virgin, and I liked how fast you came; it was very flattering.”  He straightened up. “I’m going to go take care of myself. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

Keith peeked at him through his fingers as Shiro stood up and blushed when he saw a truly impressive bulge in his pants.  

 

Shiro was hard.

 

~*~*~

 

Shiro didn’t know how long he’d been working at himself but it was fucking annoying and it was starting to hurt.  There had to be something wrong with him. Keith hit literally every one of his boxes and had the personality to match.  He was funny, adorable, stunning, brave, selfless, dedicated, and talented. Shiro had never been so intensely attracted to someone on this many levels.

 

And yet.

 

He bit his lip and changed his grip.  He felt close. He’d felt close for the last god knows how many minutes.  He should really just admit defeat and head back to bed. Keith would be getting worried and frankly, cuddling with him would be the best balm.  But he kept getting _so fucking close_.    

 

He let go and cursed under his breath.  

 

“When the hell was the last time I even came?” he muttered, washing his hands in the tiny sink.  It was while wiping his hands that he remembered.

 

He’d come for Sendak.

 

No.  No no no no, he was not going to panic over this.  He wasn't going to feel guilty or freeze up or fucking think about any of this because that wasn't fair.  That wasn't his fault it wasn't he hadn’t tried to--he hadn’t--hadn’t wanted it--he wasn't going to fucking cry about this.  He was fucking done with crying and he hadn’t want to come, and he hadn’t, not again, not after Sendak----

 

_I’m going to miss you.  I’ll think about that pretty face of yours every night until I see you next, Champion.  You look like a bitch in heat when you cum for me._

 

Shiro didn’t know what sound he made, or if Keith had simply heard him fall, but he was there in an instant, kneeling next to him and cradling his head.  Shiro sagged into him and listened to the soft the promises Keith whispered for him. It was a long time before he felt strong enough to follow the half-Galra back to their bed.  Keith tucked their blankets around them pulled Shiro to his chest. He closed his eyes, exhausted.

 

“Keith?” he asked in a small voice.  “Will you hold me?”

 

Keith already had his arms wrapped around Shiro, so he gave him a harder squeeze, causing Shiro to chuckle despite his wet eyes.

 

“I mean lower.  Not stroking, but...holding.  I…,” he swallowed. “I don’t want him to have been the last person to touch me.”

 

Cautiously, Keith slid his hand into Shiro’s sleep pants, down to his cock, and held it lightly in his fist.  “Is this alright?” he asked timidly.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro sighed with something like relief, “yeah, it’s fine.  Your hand feels nice.”

 

“You feel nice in my hand,” Keith offered back, still timid.  

 

Shiro couldn’t help a small smile.  “Thank you.”

 

It felt good to be held.  It was nice, of course, just to have Keith’s hand around him, but it was more than that--it was nice that Keith _would_ hold him, just hold him, just like this because he was tired and hurting and haunted by sharp memories he seemed doomed to relive in order to forget.  Things that were buried didn’t stay dead. By rights, Shiro should be paying a therapist an obscene amount of money, but there was quite the shortage of therapists in space, and for now, simply being held and accepting the memory would do.

 

“I came for him, a few times.  I _hate_ that I came for him.  I think that’s why he did it, to have another way to humiliate me.  It sure as fuck wasn't so that I’d enjoy it,” Shiro said, voice heavy.  

 

Keith didn’t say anything, but he nuzzled his cheek against Shiro’s head to show he’d heard.  

 

“When I told you I didn’t have much to offer, I thought I had more than this,” Shiro admitted.  

 

“I don’t need more than this,” Keith said.  “I have you.”

 

A pain that felt like an old scab being pulled away tightened across Shiro’s chest and he took in a deep breath.  “There should be more to me than this,” he said.  

 

“You only just started living again, Shiro, and even when you were dead, you were always giving yourself to me,” Keith said softly, nuzzling again.  “You don’t need to be upset at yourself for getting injured when you shouldn’t have made it out alive in the first place.”

 

“So I was dead when we met?” Shiro said, half smile on his lips.  That was pretty damn true.

 

“Everything but your body, and that was bleeding everywhere.  You were a total mess,” Keith confirmed.

 

“Well you shocked me back to life with your damn song lyrics,” Shiro chuckled.  Fucking rickrolled.

 

In space.

 

“You mean it wasn't my stylish prison garb?”

 

“Sorry, babe.  Wasn't that,” Shiro grinned.  He’d been on the edge of defeat moments ago and here was Keith, patiently guiding him back again.  Unbelievable. Keith was a fucking miracle. With him as a partner, Shiro knew he was safe to face any monster his mind brought back to him.  It might take more time than he wanted, but he was going to be okay. _They_ were going to be okay.

 

They lay awake, talking and sometimes teasing, for several hours and to Shiro’s great surprise, he slept well that night.

 

~*~*~

 

“I’m not saying you can’t go; I’m saying it’s not a good idea,” Keith explained the next morning as he tapped at the controls, requesting permission to use a particular landing strip for the next one to two quintants.

 

“I don’t want to be left in the car.  I’m not a child,” Shiro pouted, something decidedly impish in his voice.

 

“You’re acting like one,” Keith said, ignoring the urge to ask what a car was.  He was already planning to take Shiro with him, but there was something fun about the arguing--Shiro was being playful and mischievous about it.  

 

“It’s not my fault.  I’m six,” Shiro sighed.

 

“Whatever,” Keith said, rolling his eyes.

 

“No really.  I was born on a leap year.  I’m six,” Shiro insisted.

 

Keith turned and narrowed his eyes.  “Okay, fine. I’ll ask. What the hell is a leap year?”

 

“I’ll tell you on the way to your contact,” Shiro said, eyes bright.  

 

Keith rolled his eyes again.  “I know you’re excited to explore, but again: not an actual planet.  Or moon.”

 

“That’s not why I’m in a good mood,” Shiro laughed.  “I’m happy because today’s enemies are ones we can _punch_.”  He punctuated the word with a firm punch to his palm and a cocky grin.

 

Keith grinned helplessly at Shiro’s antics.  He could relate. After the monotony of space, they were both going a little stir crazy, but the bigger appeal of visiting Kayul was that after fighting mental demons, having a punchable opponent sounded downright luxurious.

 

“Right, well, we’re cleared to land.  You want to take us down?”

 

Shiro peered at the coordinates on the screen and then shook his head.  “I know what exactly none of those symbols mean. You should take the wheel.”

 

“What wheel?” Keith asked, frowning.

 

“Like in a car,” Shiro said, which explained nothing.  “Anyway, you should land us.”

 

Keith caved and asked what a car was as they descended to Kayul.  He didn’t particular care, but he kept asking details to keep himself distracted.  He was nervous, okay? Kayul was a huge port with a dirty reputation and while they would be mere specks in a crowd of people, easily ignored, this was the precise kind of environment that bounty hunters thrived in.  Vermin came to hide here, and those that exterminated them inevitably pursued. At least they weren’t going to be the only bounties. That was a given.

 

“Okay,” Keith said as they touched down on a grimy and crowded landstrip, “let’s talk outfits.”

 

“Are we color coordinating?” Shiro teased.

 

“Nope.  I’m going in my regular clothes, but you should be in your flight suit.  I know it’s Galra, but you won’t be the only one out there in Galra clothes.  Lots of defectors end up on Kayul. Plus, I don’t know how else to hide your face,” Keith said.  He’d thought Shiro might protest, but the human nodded and obediently fetched the suit (now laundered and blood-free).  

 

“Do I get a kiss before I helmet up?” he asked, eyes bright and lips twitching with a pressed back smile as he finished tugging the suit on.

 

“That’s mandatory procedure,” Keith said, happily molding himself against Shiro’s body before indulging.  The easy flirting was good for his nerves in a way. Kissing Shiro was a rush of endorphins and left him a little giddy, but it also pulled at his heart, reminding him just how much he loved--No.  This was not the fucking time or place to sort out any important realizations, so stuffing that the fuck aside. What he could safely say was that he _liked_ this man and he needed to protect him.  The Champion could handle himself in a fight, but it was going to be up to Keith to make sure there were no fights in the first place.

 

They stepped out of _Ricky_ and into the dim morning of Kayul.  They had no way to lock their ship and could only hope no one would be able to wrestle the door open in their absence.  Once again, he considered telling Shiro to stay at the ship. But, they had nothing worth stealing and they’d both be painfully anxious without the other.  Staying as a unit was not ideal, but it would have to do.

 

They began navigating their way through the streets.  Kayul was a maze of haphazard buildings and crowded markets, but Keith had decent coordinates and had briefly visited the port before--without having met the contact, however--so they managed to stay mostly on track.

 

Keith wished he’d brought their gun.  Having a Galra flight suit was one thing, though.  Openly carrying a Galra blaster? That would get them more attention than he preferred.  Actually, forget the gun--what he really wanted was his knife. His hand practically itched at the absence of the missing weapon.

 

“Do we have time for regular shopping?  I want to get a comb and maybe a razor. You know, grooming stuff, that kind of thing,” Shiro asked.

 

Keith’s brain ground to halt.

 

Grooming.  Shiro wanted to do grooming.  

 

In the middle of the street in the middle of goddamn Kayul, Shiro wanted to discuss _grooming_ and Keith blushed impossibly dark.  He wanted that. He wanted that very much.  

 

“Keith?  Are you okay?  You kinda stopped moving,” Shiro said, sounding a little worried.

 

Keith tucked his hand into Shiro’s and squeezed.  “I would very much like to do grooming,” he said.

 

“Oh god, am I that gross?” Shiro grimaced.  “Sorry. I should have asked for stuff sooner.”

 

“Gross?” Keith asked, now puzzled.  

 

“Wait, I think we’re talking about two different things here--I want to be able to comb my hair and shave my face so I look more put together.  What are you referring to?”

 

Keith’s ears drooped.  “Oh. I thought you meant...grooming each other for courting.”

 

“Hey, hey now, don’t get sad,” Shiro said, standing in front of him and putting his hands on Keith’s shoulders.  “I didn’t know that was a thing. I don’t know anything about courting, actually. If you want things, let me know, okay?  I want to make you happy. Tell me about grooming, and then let’s do it.”

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Keith mumbled, looking down.  “It’s just helping each other bathe and washing hair and combing and stuff.”

 

“That sounds really nice,” Shiro said softly.  “Humans do that sometimes, too.”

 

It was all Keith could do not to lean forward into Shiro’s arms and hug him--not the sort of display of weakness one should make on Kayul, but god was it tempting.  Instead, he nodded and gripped Shiro’s hand.

 

“So, did I say something really bad again, like talking about biting?” Shiro said, half-chagrined and half-teasing, as he straightened up.

 

Keith shook his head.  “No, it just surprised me.  Grooming is private, but it’s not life-endingly horrifying to talk about around people.”

 

“Oof.  Sorry about almost killing you,” Shiro said.  

 

Keith couldn’t see much of his face through the tint of the helmet, but he was pretty damn sure Shiro was blushing.  Good. About time the tables turned.

 

“After we see my contact, we’ll get grooming supplies.  Sound good?”

 

“Sounds great,” Shiro said, and Keith didn’t need to see his face to know that he was smiling.

 

~*~*~

 

The Water District was nicer than one might expect for Kayul.  There were several water treatment plants, one of which advertised its superior cleanliness with a large fountain.  Vagrants attempting to bathe were frequently shooed away and innumerable residents snuck “free samples” of the water, a practice that was allowed provided no one stole said water by bottling it.  Keith relayed all of this to Shiro in an effort to distract him and keep him from constantly craning his neck to take in all aspects of the port, making him look like a goddamn tourist. It took more time to reach the district than Keith had calculated due to several wrong turns and subsequent backtracking, and he was tired by the time they neared the shop.  

 

“It’s somewhere around here,” Keith said, gesturing vaguely.  “We should probably ask for directions.”

 

“Alright.  What’s your contact’s name?”

 

Keith couldn’t breathe.  That was--there was no way--

 

“Keith?  Keith, are you okay?”

 

He was shaking.  It wasn't possible.  It wasn't.

 

“Keith, you’re scaring me.  What’s wrong?”

 

The itching of his hand didn’t lie.  The flash of blue silver, tucked under the edge of a belt--it could only mean one thing.

 

Keith swallowed around the painful dryness of his mouth.  His voice was hoarse when at last he could whisper.

 

“My knife.  That woman has my knife.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of based Keith’s first sexual experience off of something that happened with Young Saasan. My friend told me about kissing and how she and her boyfriend had to keep stopping because they got too into it, and finally he asked that they just stop altogether because his dick hurt from getting hard and soft and hard again. Young Saasan was Horrified with a capital H because she was a good little Christian girl and thought that getting a guy hard with getting him off was Wrong. Basically, no wood until marriage? XD I dunno. Like, you’d make the guy sin because he’d have sinful thoughts and maybe (gasp) masturbate if he got hard. Also, that friend told me the problem with kissing is that it didn’t have “a stopping point”. Like, at no point does the body say “thanks, I’m satisfied”--it only wants MoRe which means that kissing does lead to sex (omg). Yeah. I was 16 at the time and deeply repressed. Keith isn’t repressed here, but I did like the thought of him having been so focused on Blades stuff that he never paid attention to sex, so he’s naive about a lot things. He knows how it works and whatnot--he’s just never explored desire, if that makes sense. 
> 
> God I was so fucking repressed. 
> 
> So. Repressed.
> 
> I have experienced some growth since then. It’s why I don’t get too worried about how stupid/immature teens are online. I shudder when I think about the stuff I believed at their age! So, hopefully they’ll grow, too. Annnnd they definitely won’t grow if I yell at them (but omg do I want to yell). 
> 
> Fun thing: a patient told me that her husband thought he’d invented Frenching lmao!! So ever since, I’ve loved characters that are shocked by that kind of thing/didn’t know it existed. Hil-a-ri-ous. Some day, I will write a Victorian era sex scene where one or both characters have NO idea how sex works. 
> 
> I considered giving Keith an exotic space penis but decided against it. I figured Shiro might have a problem with Galra dicks after Sendak…? :/ Probably overthinking it, lol. But I mean--I already gave Keith a lot of Galra features, so...whatever. The magical self-lubing asshole was a space necessity, though. If I don’t have to worry about my characters hunting down lube or condoms, so much the better. And if that means Keith gets random extra Good Spots, that’s a win for everyone.
> 
> (Btw, nature--wtf is with hiding the male g-spot in the butt and making it hard to get to? Rude.)
> 
> I’ve based some of Shiro’s healing off a survivor I know. They had a hard time dealing with “the last person who touched me abused me” and god, that is so, so unfair. 
> 
> Kayul works on exactly zero levels of science. It’s a hunk of metal floating in the asteroid field of a broken planet (think the crumbs left by a weblum) and it’s big enough to be the size of a moon. Like, a manufactured moon. Ooooo! It’s a crappy Death Star! Sure. Go with that. Only with a bunch of buildings and landstrips on the outside. It’s layers of city, like after they ran out of room, they put up metal rigging and built on top of it. That sounded annoying to describe in the text, so I’m saying they are in a part of the port that doesn’t have the layering. XD Also, it’s a big enough port/fake planet to have timezones. 
> 
> I FORGOT I NEED TO FINISH A FIC FOR A SHEITH BANG. So I'll be working on that next, lol. But I am over 1k into the next chapter! So to leave it on a cliffhanger, but I figured y'all would rather have a slightly smaller chapter now instead of waiting another week or whatever.
> 
> Love you guyyysss~~~
> 
> (also it now says 5/8 ooo! and I bet it will at least be 9 chapters total)


End file.
